


A Year in the Gallery

by Princess_Breetlejuice



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Billionaire!Peter, Blood Play, Body Horror, Comfort, Consensual Kink, Consensual torture as a form of intimacy, Crafting with body parts, Crossdressing, Dismemberment, Emotionally vulnerable torture porn, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gore, Happy Ending, Incubus!Peter, Limb rearrangement, M/M, Peter dies once but he comes back, Strangers to Lovers, Subdrop, Temperature Play, Wade dies a lot, consent is ambiguous but everyone's happy, extreme masochism, extreme sadism, switch!Peter, switch!Wade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29170761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Breetlejuice/pseuds/Princess_Breetlejuice
Summary: Wade is kidnapped by a strange man who has a very peculiar job offer. While he's skeptical, the man promises to compensate Wade very generously for the use of his body. Sounds [sketch], but Wade is all for easy money, and it's not like he has anything better to do right now.And really, what’s the worst that can happen?(Or: Peter is an immortal sex demon with a penchant for sadism, and Wade is about to learn he can endure unimaginable agony with a smile.)
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 34
Kudos: 114
Collections: Spideypool Big Bang - The 2020 Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m serious about the tags. Read them all, make sure you are comfortable with that. 
> 
> That being said, this is primarily fluff. Like, 0% angst. It’s emotionally vulnerable torture porn. Strangers to lovers.
> 
> Special Thanks to:  
> My artist: [thelazydrawer](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/thelazydrawer)  
> My cheer reader: [Rox](url)  
> My beta: [Vixen13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen13/pseuds/Vixen13)

There may have been a few clues that this job was a bit too good to be true. 

It could have been how this massive warehouse was manned by five guards, all patrolling the perimeter in a lackluster meander. It made Deadpool think that the building would have some intense security system to make up for limited personnel, but nope. The window he jimmied wasn’t wired to an alarm and wasn’t even locked. The biggest struggle so far was that the window hadn’t been opened in a very long time; so long that it had been glued down with layers of paint. With his utility knife and some elbow grease, he was in.

He kept expecting that there would be some complication that would make this a job worthy of his skills. So far, it felt like he was wildly overqualified, and overpaid, to infiltrate such a low priority building. A teenager could do this job, if offered enough beer. 

Maybe it was just some overly cautious, white collar worker who had seventy-five grand to drop on a merc to make sure the job was done right. Still, it felt wrong in the way it always did when things were going just a little too good.

He followed the map down the rickety metal stairs and was confronted by three doors. The instructions didn’t say which door it was, but he could do a little investigation work to find the MacGuffin. The instructions told him to confiscate any sort of tech he found: flash drives, CD’s, hard drives, even floppy disks. 

The first room was just a desk, a broken wooden chair, and a few innocuous order forms from ‘94. It didn’t take him long to toss the furniture and decide there was nothing there. 

The second room was probably used this decade, so that was a good sign. The desk was locked, which gave him some hope, but when he unlocked it, it was vacant. Wade joylessly picked through filing cabinets, pulled the books off the shelf and sifted through them. 

Halfway into checking that there was nothing taped onto the bookshelf, the door to the room he was in slammed shut, and it sounded like something heavy was pushed in front of it. It was so startling that it took him a moment to realize that whoever trapped him in here had tossed a can that was spewing gas like a fountain. 

It became so blaringly, stupidly obvious that this had been a trap, that he didn’t try to escape. He was such a dumbass that he deserved to be kidnapped. He was a professional, god damn it, and professionals don’t get trapped this easily. “You got me guys,” he announced, though he doubted anyone was listening on the other side. “I’m your problem now, bitches.”

He groaned loudly and sat on the floor, waiting for the gas to knock him out. He became impatient and lifted up the bottom of his mask to let the gas fill his lungs faster. 

Life is a journey, and sometimes a merc just needs to see where it’ll take him. Who knows, it might lead to something interesting. 

He woke up in some box with his wrists and ankles zip tied together. It was a box that snugly fit his body and it didn’t bang him up too bad as he was toted around. He was lying on his stomach, prone, with his head and feet only an inch away from the edge of the box. He could tickle the top of the box with his fingers from where his hands were bound against his lower back. He regretted being armed to the teeth, because every time he moved, it felt like another knife or gun was finding a more uncomfortable place to be. Why did these losers let him keep all his weapons, anyway? Kidnapping 101 is that you don’t let your abductee keep the shooty or stabby gear. 

Occasionally, a needle was shoved through a hole in the box somewhere along his back and he was knocked out for a time. From what he could piece together, they put him in a car, then a van, and an elevator. 

He tried to make small talk with his captors, but they were just some hired grunts that weren’t particularly talkative. Wade said, “You guys keep giving me all these drugs and I’m gonna piss it out like a geyser. Hopefully it won’t be one of them steam geysers! Those poor tourists,” and “Planes trains and automobiles, just us and the road, buddy ol’ pals,” and, “How much are you getting paid for this job? It must be pretty good because most of you fuckers wouldn’t want to be in the same time zone as me most of the time.” It didn’t matter what he said: if he was being carried, the grunts carelessly dropped him, and he was ultimately injected again.They probably wouldn’t have drugged him so many times or dropped him if he’d kept quiet. He couldn’t be quiet, though, it wouldn’t have been on brand. 

He came to a stop hours later. His internal clock didn’t know exactly how long he’d been travelling, what with the druggings and no way to tell what time of night or day it was. There was muted conversation in low tones, three taps on the top of the box, and, one more time, he was jabbed and knocked out. 

***  
Day 1: Month 0

When he came to, he was kneeling on stone flooring. The goons had to have taken advantage of the last bout of drugs to arrange him appropriately. The zip ties felt a lot tighter on his wrists and ankles in this new position. It didn’t help that they’d added an additional zip tie to keep his wrist and ankles together. That limited Wade’s options, but he could always roll across the floor if this super boss mafia guy was hella boring. 

The goons had placed him in a spacious, dimly lit room, draped in rich red fabrics. It felt like it was lit by candlelight, but he couldn’t see any candles.

Sitting on the throne-like seat before him was a skeletal waif of a man. His captor looked delighted to have Deadpool at his feet. There was the kind of crazy in his eyes that annoyed Wade because he’d likely have a lengthy monologue about the nature of evil. The man was wearing a suit that would have fit him if he were fifty pounds heavier. He was absolutely swimming in it. Wade didn’t have much of an eye for clothing, but it looked to be of high quality, if a bit old. The once stark black fabrics were a dull grey and wrinkled from how poorly they fit his body. It looked like this man would crumble under the weight of one too many paperclips. His face was gaunt and sunken in, but he was surprisingly alert for someone so deathly ill. The thinness of his face made his features appear disproportionately large. It would be generous to say he had even a pound of muscle on him. His hair was a dull brown and sparse. 

Strangely enough, there was no one else in the room. This fragile man was in an enclosed space with a world famous mercenary and he didn’t have some guards? He either had balls or was batshit insane. Wade had some respect for a man that would hire people to abduct motherfucking Deadpool with only a few zip ties to keep Wade’s knives out of his throat.

“Mr. Wilson! It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the stranger greeted in a harsh, raspy voice.

Wade rolled his eyes. They always did this, calling him by his name to assert dominance. It didn’t matter that his name was basically a matter of public record, they always liked to flaunt that they knew it and he didn’t know theirs. Wade definitely did the same thing, when the positions were reversed, but it was a cheap tactic when it was used on him. 

“Hello, Mr. Cryptkeeper!” he shot back. “Can’t say I’d say the same.”

“That’s just because you don’t know what I can do for you, Mr. Wilson.”

“Why should I hear you out? You trapped me for a job? You could have just put out a card for me.” It didn’t make sense that a customer would go this far to get his attention. Wade had the man’s card in his back pocket from the trap-job. It was an assload of work to rent a warehouse, hire the goons, hire Wade for a different job, and kidnap Wade to have a little conversation?

The man raised an eyebrow. “We sent out three. Your handler said you were, eh, very uninterested. He said that you were, ‘Not being no rich bitch’s bodyguard.’ Sound familiar?”

It took him a long moment to figure out what he meant by “handler”. Deadpool wasn’t handled by anyone, ever. He was his own independent bitch. Except, he could be referring to -- “Oh.” 

Oh, yeah, he vaguely remembered Weasel saying something about that. In his defense, he was skeptical of meeting with clients. He was a mission guy, not a guard or paperboy or whatever. If they couldn’t tell him what they wanted with a docket, it probably wasn’t his kind of job. He wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted in charge of your wellbeing or the wellbeing of anything you care about. It’s not his fault that that stuff was boring and he would get distracted in approximately ten point six minutes. So yeah, he remembered getting and refusing some sort of consultation. He guessed that this guy didn’t take too kindly to being rejected. 

“Yes, well, you refused because you weren’t aware of the very attractive offer I have for you.”

“I guess I’m here, so I might as well hear you out.” Wade was distracted for a moment, trying to make out the pattern on the man’s tie. It almost looked like the red tie was covered in spiders. “Would you mind getting me out of the zip ties? This is an uncomfortable way to conduct business, duncha think?”

The man smirked, in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of way. “I’m afraid I cannot. I do not have the tools nor strength to do it myself, and I think you might try to kill my employees if I let them help.”

Wade noted that his kidnapper made no comment about Wade hurting him. “And what if I promised that I wouldn’t?”

“I wouldn’t believe you. Patience, you’ll be freed at the end of our talk. Based on your reputation, I think you’ll be able to handle some time on your knees. Or is it not fun if it’s not in the Armory bathroom?”

He acknowledged the joke, and he would have laughed if he was friends with the guy. He wondered what kind of research Slenderman had done to know about his time at the gloryholes.

No one would ever accuse Wade of being a patient man. He was already trying to figure out how to make a sexy escape. If he wriggled hard enough, he thought he might be able to snap his hand off. Or he might be able to cut off blood supply to the hand so it would fall off, though that would take a while. He swayed and flexed and pushed, only to feel a pop in his shoulder. He looked and, oops, that was a severely dislocated shoulder.

“I would ask you to relax and not cause further harm to yourself.”

“What, is someone too delicate and sensitive? A regular wilting daisy? Bro, you really shouldn’t be working with mercs if you are so fucking fragile.”

“No, not at all,” Salad Fingers chuckled. “It’s in the best interest of professionalism that you keep yourself intact.”

“What do you mean, ‘professionalism’?” Wade popped his shoulder back in with an echoing crack and a sigh. 

“The atmosphere of this discussion would be far different if I ejaculated in my pants. I hope you understand,” he said, as casually as one would discuss the weather.

Wade looked and, would you know it, the Cryptkeeper was sporting quite the bulge in his pants. “Jesus Christ, you evil guys are always freaks, I shouldn’t be surprised. Anyway, let’s hear this so I can leave.”

The man smiled and placed his hands primarily over his crossed legs. “Lovely. I would like to be your sole employer from here on out. You would be paid to stay with me for twenty days out of thirty. When you are working, I will not need you at all times. I will call whenever I require your presence and you may spend the rest of your time however you wish. I anticipate our day to day business taking no more than four hours a day, though likely less. We can negotiate pay and benefits.”

“You know I’m immortal, right? Why would I need benefits? It’s not like I need health insurance or a 401k.”

“I’m very aware of your immortality. However, these benefits would go towards Eleanor Camacho. You call her Ellie, correct?”

Wade’s eyes widened and he fought against his binds, ready to strangle this fucker. He felt his right wrist fracture, but it healed too quickly for him to take advantage of. How dare Alton Ego bring his daughter into this? He did so much to keep her safe, to keep her name out of the mouths of unsavory men. He barely saw her and only in disguise. He sent her money through five countries and eight shell companies to keep their connection invisible. When had someone caught him? All of that careful effort was fucking useless and now she was leverage. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

“Now, now, none of that. I won’t use her against you. I intend to pay for her health insurance and start a college fund. When the college fund is full, then I’ll pay into a trust for her to open at the age of twenty. When that gets to 3 million, then I’ll open another for twenty five, then thirty, etcetera. If you work for me, she will be taken care of for the rest of her life,” he rambled off, like a script he had memorized.

Wade was skeptical. This guy was casually talking about millions of dollars for his daughter. Deadpool was an infamous merc, possibly the most infamous character in the entire Marvel Universe, but there was usually someone else who could do his job. And for the amount of money that was being discussed, the Machinist could buy an army of mercs. He could probably throw enough mercs at an issue to equate to Wade’s usefulness. This sounded almost like how SHIELD did recruitment. He’d turned down SHIELD, though, and government sponsored organizations didn’t have nearly enough money to be throwing around like this. “What do you want from me?”

“Just your body.”

“In what way? Science experiments?” If that was the answer, Wade was going to murder this psycho to death then forget all about this little field trip.

“No, no, not that.” The man eagerly reassured. “I want to hire you to engage in sexual intercourse with me.”

“What?” This was easily one of the most outrageous requests, and he wasn’t sure he was trusting his own ears. The stranger said it so nonchalantly, with such confidence that Wade would say yes. “Buddy, Grindr is free.”

“Sadly, that’s not an option, nor is any other dating app.”

“Sure it’s an option! We could set up your Grindr account together.”

Mr. Burns did not take Wade’s solution seriously, and continued, “I would like to hire you to have sex with me on a consistent basis. The kind of sex is up to you; oral, digital, anal, intercrural, any position. It doesn’t matter as long as you ejaculate.”

“But, why?” He looked down at himself, as if to show off his horrible scarring, but all he saw was his leathers. “I ain’t nearly as pretty out of the suit, I assure you.”

“Your appearance isn’t why I’m offering you the job, though I do very much appreciate it.” He took a moment to ogle Wade, like he could see through Wade’s suit and take it all in. “I never really liked traditional human aesthetics; too smooth and polished. I like some ruggedness, some grunge, some history behind their face.”

“So why do you want to hire me?”

“That is a much more involved question than you think, but I’ll try to keep it simple. I consume energy from sexual intercourse. I cannot control how much energy I take, so the partner will inevitably die. This was fine for a long time, but somewhere along the way, I grew something like a conscience. It was a horrible choice and I’ve regretted it ever since.” He laughed at his own joke. “I haven’t eaten in a very long time and I’m starving.”

“So you sought out an immortal.” Wade had never heard of this kind of sex-demon-thing before, but he had danced with the supernatural enough times that he wasn’t stunned. 

“Exactly. It’s much kinder if I kill one person a thousand times, instead of a thousand people one time. It’s simple logic.”

“I got it, I got it,” Wade grumbled. This was bizarro. He’d never heard of a thing like this and this was starting to sound like an elaborate prank. Still, he was curious. What if it was real? This might be something interesting. “What kinda deniro are we talkin’?”

“How much do you want to be paid?”

Wade did some quick guessing on what a fancy sex worker with hazard pay might demand. He decided on a high number, just to test if this guy was serious. “Six hundred ninety thousand a month.”

The man looked endlessly pleased. “Perfect.”

“Hey, I’m not agreeing to anything yet.” Wade didn’t want to make him think this was a sure thing, but he was sorely tempted. He’d toyed around with leaving the merc business and retiring somewhere warm with Ellie after he built up a beefy nest egg. If he was honest with himself, it was becoming tiring to fight. The anger that drove him forward for so long had waned to apathy. Cutting down cartel members had become dull and boring, and he’d seen enough of humanity’s worst shit for ten lifetimes. He was tired, more tired than he thought, and this seemed like an out. “What happens if I don’t accept?”

“I make you forget and you go on your merry way. You’ll be well-compensated for your time and inconvenience.”

So this guy had sex and amnesia powers? “What happens with your appetite?”

“As you can tell,” he pulled back his sleeve, revealing loose skin dangling from a shriveled frame. “I’ve been fasting a long time. My restraint will run out soon. If I was more altruistic, I’d lock myself in a vault for the rest of time. I’m not, so I’ll send my staff home and wait until I lose control over my higher functions.” He narrated future events with the disinterest of a layman reading a contract. “I’ll rampage, wiping small towns off the map. Hundreds will die. Then, when I’m strong again, my secondary tendencies will come through. Hundreds more will die, more horribly than the first batch. I’ll calm down for a while and slowly reduce my feedings. Eventually, I’ll feel guilty about it and stop again.” He smirked, “I hope you don’t feel pressured to accept, just because your refusal means hundreds of unnecessary deaths.”

Wade hated that the blatant manipulation was affecting him. “Geez, yeah, no pressure.” His glare could melt metal, but didn’t seem to have an effect.

The man shrugged casually. “You asked, I merely told you.”

“I know that,” Wade complained. “Can’t you just eat bad guys?”

“I doubt you want to get into my philosophy, but I don’t feel like I’m in the position to judge if a human deserves to die. You people are all out there, trying to make a life and maybe a difference. Who am I, an inhuman, to judge morality and decide the fate of humans?”

Wade didn’t care about the man’s philosophy and it was a dumb philosophy. Just kill the shitty people who hurt the good people, it’s not that complicated. He sighed. “Ugh, fine. How difficult will it be to leave?”

“Just let me know if you want to leave. You’ll be free to go and live your life normally. I will never force you to stay.”

“So what you are saying is that I get a bunch of money to sleep with you, plus you will put money away from my daughter, and I can leave whenever I want. I’m wary of jobs that are too good to be true. This sounds like there are strings attached.”

“There is something like strings.”

Wade waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “Sooooooo, what are they?”

“I ask you not to worry about it for the time being. It won’t be a problem for a while, and you can leave if it is too much for you. There is no contract to bind us together, nothing to force you to stay if I do something that exceeds your tolerance.”

Wade didn’t appreciate the vagueness, but he could think of some worst case scenarios. Images and sensations of pain Wade had endured during missions flashed in his mind; bullets, knives, executions, tortures, experiments. There were gallons of his blood spilled across the world and dozens of his limbs in landfills. 

If this man could deliver everything he promised, the safe future for his daughter, the financial security, some consistency in his life, this might be a sweet ass gig. He had been fighting and hurting for so long, he could probably take whatever this man wanted to throw at him. It couldn’t be worse than what he had endured so far. And even if this bastard did lock him up to keep him from leaving, he could only contain Wade Wilson for so long. “How do I know you will keep to your word?”

“You don’t, but if you let me suck your dick and cum in my mouth, I’ll send you your first month’s pay right now. Will that give you some peace of mind?”

While the man was not particularly appealing to him, he couldn't deny that the words curled around his spine and got his dick interested. He had to say that horribly malnourished people were not on his list of turn ons, but he could cream this dude’s throat for a cool six hundred ninety thousand. Wade wasn’t exactly the hottest thing on the market, anyway, so he really shouldn’t be throwing glass houses here. He’d done worse for less, that’s for sure. And even if there wasn’t any money, he didn’t have to pay to get his dick sucked. Really, there was no way he could fail. “Just don’t use too much teeth down there and we will be fine.”

“I assure you, I have very little interest in pain at the moment.” The man scooted off the chair and fell on the floor. Something might have snapped, but he didn’t remark on it or show any pain. 

Like that, a switch was flipped. His tone dipped into a rumble and his eyes gleamed gold. “My thoughts have been consumed, thinking about this.” He slowly crawled across the floor. He teetered from side to side, unable to hold himself steady, and rested a few times. It was an arduous endeavor to cover only a few feet of ground. His knees slammed against the marble and his hands shook as he lifted them up. “I am so desperate, so hungry, every moment spent dreaming of when I can finally feed again.” His hands slapped against the stone as he pulled himself forward. It was clear that his cavalier attitude was a shiny facade and now it was falling away.

Wade was a little aroused by the intensity, because damn, did it do it for him to see someone so invested in giving him a blowjob. On the other hand, he was instinctually terrified of the inhuman look in the man’s eyes. He was more aware of how he was tied up, vulnerable, and this murderous creature was going to give him the most pleasurable death he had ever experienced. It was very much a scared boner. He was kinda into it. Crazy demon sex, here he comes. 

The stranger tore at his pants, frantically looking for the seam. He shoved his belt down and got a single finger between the pieces of Wade’s suit. The frail man used what little energy he had left to yank the pants down. The ferocity shocked Wade and his balls were flush against the man’s chin before he knew what was happening. 

The man was on it and, damn, his experience showed. He sucked dick like he was a machine. Wade couldn’t feel even a hint of teeth, and the man’s mouth formed a perfect seal to provide perfect suction. Somehow, the roof of the man’s mouth seemed to undulate in time with his tongue, and it was so good it almost hurt. Wade went from half-mast to raring to go in seconds. Blood was rushing south so quickly that he was getting a headrush. It was an all-consuming pleasure that kicked him in the kidneys and left no prisoners. It was so fervent and yet so ruthlessly efficient. Wade felt like his soul was being vacuumed out through his joystick, which was probably what was happening. It was so overpowering that Wade could not even think to thrust his hips. He was barely holding on and loving the ride. 

He wanted to hold back, to enjoy it longer and maintain his dignity as a man. But he couldn’t keep it up: the stickiness, the sounds, the drool dripping on the ground, the overwhelming pressure. He couldn’t handle it, so he let go.

****  
Wade fell through a speckled blue and purple galaxy. He was dropped among a garden of desiccated flowers that Lady Death was tending to. The ground was thick with layers of crunchy petals and the air was damp and musty. It was good for a leisurely visit. 

Death was being a gorgeous babe, like always. Wade picked himself up and brushed the petal fragments from his suit. “Baby girl, you are looking divine this evening,” Wade greeted with a leer. “Are those new robes? I think those look like some new robes. They really complement the shadows in your eye sockets.” He stepped around the bushes and plants, approaching her while trying to be minimally destructive. 

Death smiled in a way that shouldn’t be possible for a skeleton, and it was stunning. Her pearly bones glimmered in the light. “Same as always, my love. I’m pleased to see you had a nice journey to me.”

It was a pleasant death and there wouldn’t be a shitshow to revive too. Or the guilt of sending himself down here. “I have absolutely no complaints. He did things to the crotch rocket that I didn’t know where possible. Not even Tony Stark himself could invent a better sucker. As long as he’s good for the money, it looks like I’ll be visiting you a lot.”

“Ah yes, you are keeping interesting company, Wade.”

“You know him?”

She huffed, like it was a silly question to ask and Wade was being quaint again. “For longer than you can comprehend. He’s been sending people my way for a very long time.”

That gave Wade some context of how old his employer was. Was it a sign that he always ended up getting bossed around by older men? He was disappointed that this one wasn’t as hunky or buff as his other companions. “Sounds like it. I bet they aren’t too mad to have such an easy trip down here.”

“His victims are usually annoyed that they died in such an undignified way. I’ve asked him to return some decency to their corpse.”

“Fair enough. I know first hand it’s not fun to die with your dick out.”

She hummed in a sort of agreement. “I worry about him. He practices restraint that he is not supposed to have.”

“I thought you didn’t like senseless killing.”

“It’s not senseless. He needs to eat, just like the humans need the death of other living things to survive. He struggles with his existence, just as you do. I wish I could take all of you who fall through my grasp. It would bring me no greater happiness than to let you die.” 

He pulled her in to give her a tight hug because she seemed affected by the thought. “Shh, baby girl. It’s all good. I guess it’s good that us unkillables stick together,” he said, hoping it was comforting to her. If she was this concerned about them, maybe his employer wasn’t as much of a dick as he seemed. First impressions aren’t always reliable, anyway. “He wants to keep me around as a feed bucket and that doesn’t seem like a bad arrangement.”

“I see. I suppose I will be seeing fewer of your gifts?”

“I might indulge if someone needs to be sent your way. I don’t want to be too bored being a kept man.”

“I understand. Now, your time is up. I’ll see you soon.” She kissed his cheek and sent him on his way.

****  
Wade came back to being carried, like a bride to her suite. He was buzzing with energy from having a very nice chat with Death and a flood of endorphins, so he just relaxed in the gentle sway of footsteps. He took his peace where he could get it, and it didn’t seem like he was in any immediate danger, so what was the harm? He wasn’t tired, just relaxed and loose. It didn’t occur to him until later that he was generally too large of a man to be carried this way, or that the person carrying him had to have been his emaciated new boss. He was just content to have an empty head. 

He was deposited on a bed, stretching and nuzzling into the sheets.

“Do you want your suit taken off?” There were hands on him, lightly caressing his chest and stomach. 

He didn’t open his eyes, “Only if you don’t puke on me.” He did want the suit off. He was chaffing after having his leathers on for so long. 

The man made a rumbling noise in his chest. It was unfamiliar, yet soothing. “No need to worry about that. Your body really is delightful.” 

“This dick is delightful,” Wade declared, then dissolved into a fit of giggles. The mask was peeled off his face, and he took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled a lot less like chorizo out here and the sweat began wicking off. He heard a soft gasp.

“Even more stunning in person, Wade.” The man traced a finger over the ridges and pits that patterned his cheeks. “Your pictures don’t do you justice.”

“Can’t catch this much ugly in a picture.”

“Nonsense, nonsense. May I kiss you?”

Kissing sounded pretty nice, right about now. “Come ‘ere. Kissy kissy, Mr. Cryptkeeper.”

The man kissed him gently with thin, dry lips. There was no urgency, just some soft intimacy. It felt like the scrawl of a signature on the bottom of a contract. “Thank you for the meal. You are exquisite.”

Wade was so relaxed, he began to fade off. “No problemo, Mr. Boss Man Sir Man.” 

“I’ll show you what I see,” the man promised. “I have many things to show you, Wade.”

That’s what Wade thought he heard, anyway. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Wade checked his bank and, oh hell yes, that man was dead serious about paying him. He only had to work here for a few months and he’d be secure for a long time. Mercenary work hadn’t been paying much these days, especially for cases he didn’t feel gross about. He could treat this like an inbetween job if he didn’t want to be dinner for the long term. It didn’t hurt that Ellie would be set, pretty much forever. For right now, he was waiting to see how long it would take for him to get bored.

Wade learned his employer’s name eventually. Generally, it was bad practice to sleep with someone without knowing their name, but that hadn’t seemed important at the time. He remembered to ask when he had a rare moment to catch his breath between orgasms. The Cryptkeeper's real name was Peter, which was far more convenient. Fewer syllables and all. Wade asked about a last name and got a dismissive, “Haven’t decided yet.”

Wade watched Peter transform right before his eyes. After each “feeding” Peter appeared noticeably healthier, less feeble and decrepit. His skin gained elasticity and lost its yellowed hue. His cheeks filled, his eyes no longer looked sunken, and his dull hair filled back in with shiny chestnut locks. His arms, still thin, were being corded in muscle, and he was building a healthy layer of fat. He was no longer hideously malnourished, just underweight.

Peter wasn’t there yet, but Wade began to see how his employer had been a successful hunter for all that time. He was turning into the kind of man that could seduce men and women to their deaths. He wasn’t attractive in an intimidating way. He felt approachable, comfortably in your league, and not obviously sexual in his appearance or mannerisms. He didn’t ooze sex, like one might expect a sex demon to. It was a subtle, soft allure that pulled you into his grasp. It made you think you had a chance with him, that he wouldn’t turn you down, that he could be yours if you walked up to him. He was, coincidentally, exactly Wade’s type, and it made Wade wonder if Peter changed to attract his target or fate made him perfect. He was the kind of doe-eyed, floofy-haired, slight man that Wade dreamed about.

The craziness in Peter’s eyes settled down. Wade realized it must have been the starvation turning him manic. Peter was still terribly hungry, but the desperation didn’t hit until Wade was on the precipice of an orgasm. Peter would tense up and his stare would be deep, piercing, and demanding. Wade spent the days in rapture, melting into a mass of sweat and cum.

The first eight days were spent tirelessly in Peter’s obnoxiously large bed. Peter asked that Wade not take any days off during this time so Peter could restore his strength. Wade grew familiar with how the black carpet dug into his knees as he was fucked across the floor, memorized the lines in the ornate, burgundy wallpaper as he was rimmed, and learned how sturdy the bed posts were when he held on for dear life. It was a sparsely furnished, massive space, and they tasted carnal pleasures on every inch. Aside from the bed, there was a dark wooden table with matching chairs, and a bathroom with a gorgeous shower. The room was probably a biohazard at this point.

Wade was only allowed to leave if he wanted to sleep in his own room. Peter gave him a measure of privacy, so Wade didn’t “work” where he slept, and Peter didn’t step into Wade’s room. Most nights, Wade was too spent to think about moving, and Peter was a pretty nice hot water bottle.

Peter was surprisingly considerate. Given how insistent Peter was to secure Wade’s employment, Peter gave him control over the sexual acts they engaged in. Peter’s goal was Wade’s orgasm, it didn’t matter how that happened.

It took a period of time for Wade to agree to fuck Peter. Despite Peter’s assurances, Wade was just too afraid of breaking the man. What if he grabbed Peter’s hips a fraction too tight and they shattered? Even if Peter just rode him, what if Wade thrust up too hard and ruined his pelvis? He just wasn’t alright with that level of destruction this early in their working relationship. Peter reassured Wade, mentioning offhand that he’d been beheaded, burned, shot, and stabbed, and he could bounce back like the best of them. Not as fast as Wade could, but Wade couldn’t do any permanent damage. Still, Wade waited until Peter looked relatively healthy to top him.

One day, he asked Peter to fuck him from sunrise to sunset because Wade was exhausted and needed a break. Peter did things to Wade’s prostate that Wade didn’t know were possible. There was some body horror level of tongue action, so deep in him that Wade thought Peter’s tongue was going to come out of Wade’s mouth. His fingers, god, they had to be self lubricating.

Another, Peter spent the whole day with Wade in his mouth. There were bathroom breaks, but Peter would not keep his mouth empty for long. When Wade needed to refuel, he would order from the intercom, and it would get delivered to the door. Peter would only release him for the time it took Wade to get up and snag the food. Wade was tackled upon his return every time. It was hazardous to eat and have an incubus trying to wring your soul out through your dick. Wade thought he had it managed until he died in the middle of a bowl of chili. There was no salvaging those poor, innocent sheets.

Wade had thought that, after twelve to sixteen hours of sex where his employer thoroughly tested his refractory period every day, he would have gotten sick of it. While he would have liked to play a few video games, or take a break, it wasn’t as boring or repetitive as he imagined. Peter was creative and found ways to make pleasure feel like the first time all over again. Wade was pretty sure his heart gave out from concentrated, high octane pleasure. Peter expertly found Wade’s kinks and mercilessly used them to drive Wade insane. It made Wade feel like he was living his best hedonistic dream life.

Wade was fairly happy that Peter had insisted that Wade take this job. It was a sweet gig.

****

Day 18: Month 0

Wade was recovering from his third deathgasm of the day. Peter said “deathgasm” was a crude word but didn’t stop Wade from using it.

Peter had begun to slow the feedings, weaning himself back to only one or two meals a day. He finally gave Wade his first weekend off. Wade had underestimated how having marathon sex with a sex demon would change him. Going a whole 48 hours without sex was much harder than he anticipated. It had only taken Peter a couple weeks to condition Wade’s body to be needy and demanding. Wade visited his daughter but found his thoughts drifting back to Peter so often that she noticed. When he was alone for the evening, he tried to get off on porn or fantasies, but Peter’s face and moans wouldn’t leave him alone. And once he gave into his memories of Peter, he knew his hand was a pitiful replacement.

It was Monday, and Peter had some meals to catch up on. Needless to say, he was especially eager and Peter was taking full advantage of that.

When Wade opened his eyes, Peter asked, “Would you be opposed to one more round, Mr. Wilson?” Peter was dressed in what was left of a baby pink bralet, garter, panty, and stocking set. It was some sort of “welcome back” gift. Three rounds down the road, the panties were stretched and stained, the bralet was balled up in the middle of his chest, the stockings had runs, and two of the garter belt’s clips had fallen off. Paired with insane bed hair, Peter was the picture of debauchery. He looked as ruined as Wade felt. The only thing that would make it better would be mascara trails down his cheeks and smudged lipstick.

Wade groaned. He was convinced that Peter was using some sort of demon magic to trigger erections based on certain phrases. Or maybe he just said “Mr. Wilson” in a way that dripped with unfiltered eroticism. “You said that last time.”

Peter brushed some damp hair off of his forehead. “I know what I said. You left me for a whole two days,” Peter pouted like a bratty kid. That expression shouldn’t be possible for an immortal sex demon who just finished obliterating Wade’s ass. “Don’t you think you owe me?”

Wade could not resist Peter. It was too hard, and it was in his cock’s benefit to go with whatever Peter wanted. “How did you ever survive before you kidnapped me?” Wade joked as he gave in.

“It was a challenge,” his employer said with a considering nod, not managing to keep his grin up. In an effort to get the mood back, he tackled Wade. He crawled up his body to straddle him and ground his hips down. “Are you ready for more?”

Wade wasn’t too eager yet, so he gave a lazy roll of his hips, “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, you’ve put in a lot of effort today, so I was thinking I’ll ride you.” He put his hand around Wade’s neck and gave a gentle squeeze. “And if you make any noise, I'll choke you until you're silent again. Are you amenable to that?”

Wade liked how Peter would propose mouthwatering scenarios so nonchalantly. This one was bound to be a struggle though. Wade was not one who was ever quiet in any situation. It felt especially rude to be quiet while he was being ridden by a pretty boy, but he was up for the challenge. He rolled up again, grinding against Peter’s hole. “Give me your worst.”

Wade’s breath caught in his throat. A wave of panic rose up from deep inside. It was an unexpected scream from his lizard brain that said wrong wrong danger you dun fucked up. Looking at Peter again, he realized the impending sense of doom may have come from the twinkle in Peter’s eye. It reminded him of his place, of his situation, and that he should be more careful with his words.

Wade let the fear simmer and swallowed it down. It was in Peter’s best interest to keep Wade happy and in his bed. Peter might be killing Wade, but Wade had the power to walk away. Peter had been good to him thus far, it wouldn’t make sense if he screwed Wade over. He had to remember that he was in control. He held the carrot, and he decided when Peter got it. If Wade decided to end their session right now, he could leave for the rest of the day. His lizard brain wasn’t buying what his ape brain was trying to sell, though, and he didn’t quite believe his own reassurances.

He was getting used to this; the flickers of sudden, intense fear that took him when he was around Peter. His instincts knew he should be afraid. Wade decided he knew better than those pesky warning bells that didn’t know he was immortal. He fought his body’s pleas to claw Peter’s hand off his throat.

The moment passed. Peter didn’t say anything, just taking notice of how the surge of emotions flitted over Wade’s face. Wade wished he knew what Peter was thinking, as Peter’s expression gave away nothing. “Not yet,” the demon said, rubbing Wade’s pulse point with his thumb.

Wade couldn’t think of what Peter was responding to, but his thoughts were derailed. Peter lifted up just enough to slip Wade a tiny bit into him. A little move and he could just ride down the fireman’s pole.

Wade keened, sensitive and throbbing. It was time to get the show on the road, baby!

Peter quirked his eyebrow, as if impressed that Wade had already forgotten the rules of their little game. He tightened his grip until Wade’s face turned red and kept squeezing until Wade remembered.

Peter did wicked things with his hips, not letting Wade enter him while he punished every little noise Wade made. Wade never seemed to learn his lesson and didn’t let the oxygen deprivation keep him from being vocal. If anything, it incentivized him. Eventually, Peter squeezed Wade's throat hard enough that nothing could come out. Wade twitched, desperately trying to get air in his lungs, though he didn’t reach up to remove Peter’s hand. His chest burned and struggled until he had been properly cowed.

Finally, Peter lowered onto him, and it wasn’t clear if the spots dotted in Wade’s vision were from pleasure or asphyxiation. Peter threw his head back and rode Wade with such enthusiasm and precision that it would make a pornstar envious. If Peter wasn’t already loaded, he could make bank as a sex worker.

Wade quickly forgot about the rules and bounced between earth shattering ecstasy and struggling to breathe. He clawed at Peter’s thighs as his vision blurred. In retaliation, Peter removed one hand from his throat to dig his nails into Wade’s chest and slowly — deeply — dragged them down. The room echoed with Wade’s howls, Peter’s moans, the bed’s creaks, and wet squelches. Wade bucked wildly. Peter rode him like a world class rodeo star, showing no sign of tiring or slowing with his thighs of steel.

One would think, with all the sex Wade had been having, he would build up his endurance. However, Peter was not something one could build endurance against.

****  
Reviving for the fourth time, Wade noticed several things were different. For one, the room was still. Peter wasn’t lounging beside him, either cajoling him into another round or checking that Wade was recovering normally. Peter never left until he made sure Wade was alert and didn’t need any post-death support. There was not a single sound to greet him back to the land of the living. For another, his left hand was aching and his mind was cloudier than it should be. The pain didn’t resolve itself in a few seconds. The pain in his wrist lingered like a serious injury, and he couldn’t think of what happened to cause it.

Wade lifted up his hand. There was no hand at the end of his wrist. The nub was bleeding lethargically and some dripped onto Wade’s stomach. He stared blankly at the end of his radius and ulna. His bones shone in the light, surrounded by the cut vessels and tendons like a bouquet.

Huh.

What happened to his hand? It was a clean enough cut. It was detached with a sharp instrument that avoided most of the bones. There was some trauma to the tissue, like it had been sawed instead of severed with a single swing of a blade. Not a novice, but definitely not a surgeon’s precision.

It was obvious that Peter had done this. It wasn’t like there were ninjas that could break in, kidnap Peter, and make off with his hand. However unlikely, Peter had removed his hand after the feeding and scurried off with it to do. Something? Wade wasn’t sure if he would have had more or fewer questions if Peter had stuck around and explained himself.

Wade sat up and groaned. It was yet another set of sheets that were ruined. Peter had an endless supply of replacement sheets, but he should be more aware of his environmental impact. He could invest in a set of rubber sheets if they were going to be this messy.

Before he could assume the worst, Peter snuck back into the room. When he noticed that Wade was conscious, he at least had the courtesy to look sheepish. “Sorry, I thought I would be back before you woke up.”

Wade crossed his arms over his chest, and his left wrist slipped, having no hand to keep it in place. “That’s what you are apologizing for?”

“Yeah, I try to be here when you wake up. Aftercare is important, based on what modern sexual literature says.”

Was Peter being purposefully ignorant, or did he not know where the problem was? Seriously? Peter had Wade’s blood splattered on his arms. “Is this a demon thing? Do demons not know that it’s rude to cut off hands without consent?”

Peter shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Yeah, I would have liked some heads up on that. Modern sexual literature also says negotiation is important.”

Peter mirrored Wade’s posture and puffed up his chest. “Dead people can’t consent. You can’t say yes, can’t say no. Consent protocols don’t apply here.” He cocked his hip. The flippant attitude was somewhat diminished by the way Wade’s cum dripped down his legs. “It’ll grow back.”

Wade was annoyed because he could totally see the logic. It made sense, but BDSM etiquette was never imagined for demons. He felt like Peter was twisting it where there were gaps that didn’t account for their dynamic. “Yeah, duh, it’ll grow back, but we should have talked about it.”

“Why? It doesn’t involve you.”

“You cut off my hand!” Wade waved around his stump and pointed at it. “My. Hand. That you cut off.”

“And?”

“It’s rude to cut off people’s hands without asking!”

“But you were dead. Was I supposed to ask your corpse?”

“No, you ask the living me before you mutilate my corpse. Humans look down on disrespecting the dead.”

Peter threw up his hands. “Fine, I’ll ask first the next time I want to cut you up,” he conceded and crawled into bed with Wade. He was acting like Wade was unreasonable but let Wade win this one. He looked miffed that Wade was cross with him. “I think you are blowing this out of proportion.”

“I’m not usually the one calling for some sanity. Why won’t you ask? The worst I’ll say is no.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” the ancient being glowered.

Wade decided to drop the topic, for now. He was placated for the time being, knowing that Peter probably wouldn’t surprise him with desecrating his corpse again.

****  
Life outside of Peter’s bedroom was pretty fancy. Peter’s estate was the size of a state park and incredibly modest, at first. It was located in a rural part of upstate New York, an hour outside of the city. The estate was a small house, surrounded by acres of forest. The forest had nicely manicured, but underutilized, trails. It would be perfect for mountain biking, hiking, and four-wheeling. It acted as a buffer between Peter’s home and the rest of the world. There were occasionally trespassers, but they were left to their own devices unless they wandered too close to the house. Upon entering the house, it became clear that the above-ground portion of the house was vacant. It was a pale mimicry of a home, with a few pieces of furniture to give the illusion of occupancy. Those who had been invited would take either the stairs or the elevator behind a bookcase into the sublevels. The home had three, expansive sublevels that Wade hadn’t fully explored. Peter cordoned off a large swath of the third floor and Wade couldn’t begin to imagine what he was hiding down there.

The first floor, or the first level below ground, had the room where Wade had first met Peter. Wade nicknamed it the Evil Lair room. Based on Wade’s understanding, Peter tended to conduct business there; meetings, video calls, conferences, that kind of thing. It wasn’t clear what Peter did, but he was some sort of professional who wore fancy suits. At least the suits finally fit him. When Peter was working, he was either in the Evil Lair or in the office, one door over. Peter hadn’t invited him into the office, but he hadn’t barred him from the room. Wade wasn’t bored enough to poke around in places he hadn’t been invited yet.

The first floor also had a kitchen, a sitting room, an arcade room, a video game room, and a theater. It was like a teenager’s wet dream. Wade couldn’t understand why Peter would have those extra rooms. What use does a demon have for Xboxs and Playstations and pinball machines? They seemed like human frivolities that would be below the attention of a sex demon. Peter chose not to say why he had the rooms, but he said they were available for use at all times by any of his staff, as long as the use of the facilities did not interfere with their duties. Wade had no choice but to think that Peter had spent an enormous amount of money and consideration to make the humans occupants comfortable.

Below that was the second floor, broken into two parts; servants quarters, and Peter and Wade’s quarters. While Wade would have usually thought this was a sign of a rich boy who was too good to stay near the servants, he was just grateful to have the freedom to walk around in various states of undress between his and Peter’s rooms. The staff was only allowed near Peter and Wade’s bedrooms for an hour on Mondays, and three on Thursdays.

Of what Wade had seen of the third floor, it was mostly a storage level. It was the deepest part of the estate, as far as he was aware, and wasn’t heated like the other floors were. It was full of antiques and relics from far away places. Wade wasn’t an archeologist or historian, so he couldn’t make sense of what most of that junk was. All he knew was that it was old and there was a lot of it. He didn’t have much reason to go down there.

Peter’s staffing situation was an interesting one. He had been hiring exclusively mercenaries for a number of years to attend to the estate. They were in charge with maintaining the grounds and the house, and caring for Peter in his feeble state. They were heavily armed, for reasons Wade didn’t know. It could be to protect Peter, or protect themselves from Peter. Regardless, it was ridiculous to see a muscled man in tac gear dusting antiques in the Evil Lair. Wade tried to convince the largest mercenary that he should wear a frilly maid costume, but the man could only barely stop himself from punching Wade for the suggestion. Tragically, the beefy mercenaries didn’t share Wade’s sense of humor.

After the first week Wade was there, Peter dismissed the mercenaries and brought in a new set of civilian employees. With Wade around, Peter was safe to be around normal people, and the mercenaries were not fantastic company, nor diligent cleaners. The new staff had the weariness of people who had survived through great struggle. Wade couldn’t imagine where or how Peter found these people, but they were feverishly dedicated workers.

None of them knew what to make of Wade. Wade was friendly enough, but he could tell they wanted to ask who he was and what he was doing here. He couldn’t blame them for wondering about the heavily scarred, muscled man in sweats and hoodies who lingered around the estate.

Wade’s days were simple and easy under Peter’s employment, once he was finally let out of bed. It was fall now, nice and crisp outside and the leaves were beginning to turn. Upstate New York might be a hellhole, but the fall colors were gorgeous. He embraced the lovely weather and walked or jogged on the trails. After his walk, he’d come back to the house to shower. He would ask when Peter wanted him, then figure out how to spend the rest of his day.

He bought a trampoline to practice his acrobatics that he put at the back of the house. He wasn’t sure if Peter knew it was there, but Wade didn’t think Peter would have an issue with it. Another day he bought a pole. He figured it was as good a time as any to learn how to pole dance. There was a nice lady on the interwebs who could do black magic with her body, and she was teaching Wade her ways.

He tried a number of local diners in the neighboring towns. Peter didn’t understand why Wade went out to grease holes when they had three amazing cooks to prepare any kind of food he desired. If Wade had to guess, Peter hadn’t left the house in years and didn’t get cabin fever. It didn’t matter that those diners were shitty greaseholes; they were full of different sights, smells, tastes, and people. Going into the outside world gave him a reason to remember what day it was and what different times of the day meant.

One of his favorite hobbies was to distract Peter when he was in his Evil Liar. If there was an ongoing video call, Wade might crawl below the field of view and try to get under Peter’s skin. It was a challenge. It took a lot for Peter to display annoyance, so every muscle tick was a win. Wade had caused some serious forehead folds by jabbing Peter in the ankle with a thumbtack. The bigger prize was when Peter took him away and fuck the shit out of him. He’d growl, “I’m going to kill you,” and whisk Wade away for sexy fun times. Wade wasn’t annoying him to instigate sexy times, but Peter’s “punishments” definitely weren’t dissuading him.

If he was lazy, he’d try to distract some of the staff into playing video games with him. Most of the time, they made excuses about needing to do their job. Wade promised that Peter wouldn’t mind and that they worked too hard anyway. The estate was immaculate. It didn’t help, so he’d play games alone or online. He’d buckle down with a family size bag of chips and play until he couldn’t feel his ass or Peter dragged him away.

Overall, it wasn’t a bad situation. While missions were more exciting, they were still filled with hours of waiting for things to happen. He missed those action packed, adrenaline pumping highs, but he didn’t mind trying to figure out what stillness and peace felt like.

****  
Day 1: Month 1

An interesting quirk Peter picked up after he dismissed the mercenaries was that he insisted that everyone ate breakfast together. He asked the cooks to set breakfast up, buffet style, and everyone served themselves.

Peter ate with everyone else, which weirded Wade out the first time. Peter did not eat or drink a stitch during their sex marathon so he assumed Peter only ate people. It was exceptionally bizarre to watch Peter eat eggs and bacon. Peter said eating human food was a neutral experience. He didn’t have the triggers in his brain that made eating a pleasurable activity, but he didn’t mind it. It was like seeing a wolf eat grass alongside the sheep. Peter never looked quite right when he was eating human food. He ate at a constant pace from the beginning to the end of the meal. He would start at the top left of the plate, and take one bite from each part of the dish in a clockwise rotation. His chewing was mechanical, with the same amount of chewing, regardless of what he was eating. No one else noticed, but Wade couldn’t blame them. You’d have to look at it pretty carefully to see it.

The staff were awkward about sharing a meal with their boss at first, but they adjusted. Peter made polite, professional conversation one might expect over cubicle walls. “How are the children?” and “How’s the wife?” and the like. Eventually, the staff would talk among themselves, with Peter contributing when it was appropriate. Breakfasts had a jovial atmosphere and helped develop a healthy work environment.

This morning, Peter had his hair slicked back, wearing a black suit with delicate, faint grey stripes. He decided against a tie and left the top two buttons of the blood red shirt open, showing that he wasn’t wearing an undershirt. It was somewhat unusual; Peter normally wore a complete suit set: vest, cufflinks, the whole kit and caboodle. He was comparatively dressed down, a little rumpled even, and in a particularly chipper mood.

It was apparent that Peter had unbuttoned to show off a new necklace. He was constantly fidgeting with it, running his fingers over the irregular textures. It had white, cylindrical beads interspersed with small, shiny black spacers. It didn’t look like the kind of thing that a fabulously wealthy man would wear. He expected rich dude jewelry to be polished and sterile.

Wade dug into breakfast, limply engaging in the morning banter. One of the groundskeepers ranted about the squirrel who totally had it out for him. The cooks asked about what everyone wanted for dinner, since meal decisions were a democratic process. A housekeeper shared a picture of his kid proudly showing off their art. The energy was contagious. Maybe Peter mandated breakfast because he liked interacting with people. Maybe he needed to study human behavior to fit in. Wade found that it was nice to spend time with relatively normal people who had normal problems. This table felt so far away from Peter’s bedroom and the depravity and inhumanity that happened there.

Still, while he was enjoying the conversation, his gaze drifted to where Peter was fingering the necklace. Peter stroked it with a detached, unfocused look and a smile. He wasn’t even pretending to listen to the conversations, so lost in his own world.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Wade asked, “Hey, Peter.” His employer’s smile dropped as he was pulled from his thoughts. “So what’s with the new jewelry?”

“Ah, so you noticed.” The staff acted as if they saw it for the first time, either to be polite or they were unobservant. It might not have been as obvious to everyone else as it was to Wade. “Just a little thing I threw together.”

“It’s lovely, Sir,” said the admin, the little suck up he was. “Do you make jewelry often?”

Peter’s face flourished into a perfectly pleasant expression, with a tinge of artificiality. “Not really. It’s been years since I’ve touched my tools. I couldn’t help myself when I got my hands on some rare raw materials.”

One of the groundskeepers chimed in, “My sister makes and sells accessories, like necklaces and bracelets and brooches, all kinds of things. She makes some of her components out of sea shells and some of the sea shells come from animals that are hard to get legally. Is it something like that?”

“You are exactly right, Alexandra,” Peter complimented. He leaned forward to set his elbows on the table and loosely clasped his hands together. “I’m very interested in your sister’s business. Can you tell me about it?” He seamlessly transitioned the conversation, which included promising to get Alexandra’s sister in touch with some important craftsmen in her medium.

***  
Leaving breakfast, Wade still had questions about the necklace. Something was up with it. He really wanted to know.

He was forced to wait until they had some alone time. Peter set the schedule, and he decided that he would like to utilize Wade’s services after dinner. Wade tried to pester Peter between meetings, but he was all like, “Wade, we will talk about this later,” which was totally unfair. He was forced to spend the entire day wondering if it was a talisman or a trophy from old victims or a momento from hell. His mind was going wild with increasing improbable scenarios. It probably wasn’t anything significant, just some weird demon thing that he couldn’t talk about in front of the staff.

The day dragged on, the mysterious necklace weighing heavy on his mind. He was impatient through all of dinner. Peter’s methodical eating grated on his nerves. He wanted to yell at Peter to hurry it up and that Peter didn’t even need to eat.

When Peter put down the fork and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, Wade was up and insistently tugging him away from the table. Out of the room, down the stairs, and into Peter’s bedroom. Wade threw him onto the bed and stood over him expectantly.

Peter got to work pulling down Wade’s pants. “Someone is eager.”

Wade took a meaningful step back, and his waistband snapped back as it slipped out of Peter’s grasp. “Not for that. You know what I want.”

Peter fluttered his eyes, in a parody of innocence. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Wilson?”

Wade stepped back into Peter’s space, tentatively, and stayed there when Peter kept his hands to himself. “You know what I want.” Wade toyed with the necklace that had been occupying his thoughts. The white beads were smooth, and porous in certain regions. It rested delicately between his fingers.

“Oh, that.” Peter reached up to meet Wade’s fingers and play with the jewelry, as if he had all day. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s cute,” Wade waved off the question. “So what’s up with it? You are really, really, really into it.”

“I made it. Shouldn’t I be proud of something I’ve made?”

“It’s not just that. There’s something about it, isn’t it? It’s gotta be a demon thing.”

“Not a demon,” Peter reminded him again. “I suppose it does relate to attributes of my unique existence.” Wade rolled his eyes because Peter could have just said, “Yeah, it’s a demon thing,” if he wasn’t being so evasive. Damn semantics.

“So how does that thing relate to your existence?” Wade asked with sarcastic air quotes.

“It’s made from a very special material. I think you know what it is.”

At this point, Wade had concocted so many scenarios, he had absolutely no idea what it could be. “I have absolutely no idea what it could be. The souls of the damned?”

“No.” Peter’s easy, amused smile stayed exactly in place, unchanged. He shook his head. “I suppose I expected a mercenary of your caliber would be able to put the pieces together.”

Wade took the thinly veiled insult on the chin. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. So what is it?”

“These beads?” Peter rolled a white bead in his finger. “They are made from your bones.”

There was some part of Wade’s brain that was not surprised. The rest of Wade’s brain was confused. How did Peter get the bones? Oh, yeah, idiot. Peter took his hand. The beads were his finger bones. The size, texture, and irregularity made sense now. There was some sort of bizarre poetic symmetry that he was touching the necklace with his left hand, that was made from the remains of his old left hand. “How did you make it so quickly? You just took it last week.”

“Twelve days. I spent a number of late nights cutting and shaping and sanding.”

“Okay, but how did you, like, get rid of the extra shit? Deflesh it?” Wade knew from first hand experience that getting bones out of flesh and muscle was a challenge.

“Dermestid beetles.” Peter followed Wade’s hand up to stroke his arm, apparently trying to move on from this topic.

Wade was not shocked that Peter had a collection of flesh eating beetles. He was just not sure what to think about Peter wearing a necklace made of his bones. Especially bones that were obtained while he was dead, without his verbal consent. It was weird as hell.

“Why did you do any of this? Is this a sexual thing? Demon thing?” He had more options, but he couldn’t get his brain to provide them all. “I don’t get why you stole my hand and turned it into a necklace.”

Peter’s fingers travelled up and down Wade’s sides. “It’s complicated. Wouldn’t you rather I suck your cock instead of boring you with silly explanations?”

Wade’s skin rolled into goosebumps, and he was halfway seduced with the thought of Peter’s devilish mouth on him, but he held firm, “Nah, you’ve been cagey about this. I want some answers.”

Peter sighed but didn’t stop his suggestive caresses. “Fine, fine. When I’m well fed, I have enough energy to be cruel and I like to document it. Souvenirs, mementos,” he asked, digging his nails in. It wasn’t painful, just a light sensation. “I’d ask you to indulge me.”

If Wade didn’t know better, he’d think Peter was nearly begging. For a moment, he felt like he was actually in control. He wasn’t sure what he was in control of, though. He cupped Peter’s newly plumped cheek. “How am I to indulge you?”

“Let me do as I please with your body while you are dead,” Peter pleaded breathily. “Let me keep your pieces and use them how I please.” Those words shouldn’t have been so scorching hot. Wade’s knees were weak from the sincerity in Peter’s voice and how desperately hungry he looked.

He couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Why does it need to be while I’m dead?” He only half knew what he was offering up. He didn’t know if he would regret it.

Peter was at a loss for words, but recovered quickly. He looked away, maybe a little shy. Tight and restrained, he warned, “The things I want to do... It’s best if you can’t feel them, if you aren’t aware.”

“Where’s the fun if I can’t feel it?”

“You don’t mean that.” This time he dug his nails in, threateningly, the pinpricks of pain slowly building. “You can’t mean that.”

Did Wade think he could take it? He wasn’t so sure. It didn’t stop him from saying, “It’s pretty rude to do the weird kinky stuff while I’m dead, all secretive like. Not opposed to the necrophilia and somnophilia you got going on, but I think you’d like it if I could feel it.” The flash of fear came back with a vengeance, banging around his chest wildly. He tried not to show it, but he couldn’t stop the gooseflesh from roiling up.

Wade thought it was probably fine if he ignored the cries of his instincts. What’s the worst that could happen?

Peter swiped his tongue over his lip. “Are you agreeing to allow me heinous acts upon your body when you are awake and alive?”

“With a safe word,” Wade amended quickly. So, fine, he was listening to his instincts a little. “I need an out.”

Some part of him wanted to see how much he could take. He wanted to show that he was a tough cookie and that he wouldn’t pussy out. He had no illusions that Peter, despite his cute, angelic face, could probably do things to him that would make Ajax (may his soul rot), wince. Could he endure? Probably not, but he wanted to try.

“Of course.” Peter rested his head on Wade’s stomach so Wade couldn’t see what kind of expression he was making. “This isn’t part of your job description. There is not enough money in the world to compensate you for what I want to do to you.” His voice was dripping with warning.

Anxiety was crawling up Wade’s vertebrae and a cold sweat was pooling on the back of his neck. His body was giving him every indication that he should not do it. “I want it. I’m curious what horrific things can come out of this noggin.” He messed with Peter’s hair. God damn it, it was soft. Wade’s hair was never this soft when he had some. If it was, he’d never stop touching it.

“This is not something that should be entered into by mere curiosity.”

“You’re thinking about it too much. You have my consent, and I’m barely sane enough to, let’s do it. My safeword is ‘Kumquat’.”

“I doubt there is any part of it that you’ll enjoy, but I’ll allow you to make bad decisions.”

****

Wade met this new world of Bad Decisions™ two days later.

It came in the form of, what he eventually learned, was a shovel to the back of the head. There was no negotiation, no discussion on the matter. Peter seemed to take a forgiveness-over-permission approach to this situation. He almost understood consent, whether that be willingly or as some sort of demon thing.

As blood dribbled down the back of his head and he was face first on the dirt, he realized he should have pushed to talk about this more, but he was in the middle of it now. He had too much ego to pussy out just because he didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

He was bound, blindfolded, gagged, and hauled over Peter’s shoulder before the world stopped spinning. Peter carried him into the house, which made the whole kidnapping thing feel a tad redundant. Wade was twenty feet away going inside on his own before he was so rudely interrupted.

Wade was brought to Peter’s bedroom and strapped down to an unforgiving metal table. Wade didn’t struggle, couldn’t decide if Peter might like that sort of thing and he certainly couldn’t ask around the gag. He pulled at the leather straps, familiar in a few unpleasant ways, but he was able to separate himself from the past.

He felt a lump grow in his throat, but it quickly deflated when Peter removed the gag. The first thing Peter said to him was, “I didn’t want you yelling and scaring the staff.”

Once his mouth was clear, he relaxed. He hadn’t even realized how tense he was at having his voice removed. He had a word he could use to end it. There was a massive unknown and he greedily held onto that sliver of control.

He heard a slight scrape of something being picked up and felt cold metal on his belly. To his relief, it was merely shears, as Peter sliced off his clothes. For a moment, there was some hope that this was going to just be some kidnapping kinky sex times, but he didn’t get the impression that he’d be so lucky. It was nice, though, the sshhllliikkkk of the shears through fabric, Peter’s careful fingers parted the pieces. He didn’t cut everything off. He cleared the clothing off his torso, and left the remnants pushed off on Wade’s arms. He eased Wade’s shoes and socks off, so gingerly. It felt like being pampered. As Peter walked around him, Wade could hear the crunching of some sort of plastic floor covering.

He was almost meditating when he heard Peter pick up something heavy. Not even a breath later and there was a sharp pain on his toe. “Jesus fucking Mary shit buckets Christ!” Wade screamed in surprise. Pressure, pressure, pressure, then open air on a fresh wound and the blood was spurting out of his newly amputated toe. It felt like it lasted forever, but it was only a second at most. Wade heard a wet plop, probably Peter storing the toe for another craft project. He didn’t know if Peter would be able to make jewelry out of the toe because it crushed whatever bones it encountered. He was suddenly concerned over the impending future of the other nine still attached toes. It might have been better to be dead for this, afterall.

“What did I use to cut off your toe?” Peter asked in a tone that Wade hadn’t heard before. He sounded genuinely happy, with a teasing note. It was like every other expression of joy until now had been an act. Wade never knew he could be terrified of someone that was that giddy.

“You don’t know?”

“No. I know what it is.”

“Then why are you asking me? How should I know?”

Peter tapped Wade’s nose with whatever implement he had used to amputate Wade’s toe. The metal was cool and rough, if a bit tacky with blood. “I want you to guess. For every incorrect guess, I’ll cut off another toe. So, guess.”

“No pressure,” Wade groaned. He needed more time to sort his thoughts, but he didn’t suspect that Peter was going to be patient. This was a cruel, sadistic game that Wade would probably lose. It had to be some specialty equipment that Wade hadn’t heard of before. Still, Wade had to try. He had limited information he could use for his guess. They weren’t sharp, relying on brute force. It wouldn’t hurt so much if they were sharper, the cuts would be cleaner, but that’s probably why Peter chose it.

“Hedge clippers!”

Peter cut off the second piggy. “What kind?”

“You cut it off for not being specific enough?”

“Yes.” Peter cut off the third. “And that one’s for asking the question. What kind of hedge clippers?”

Wade, in his haste, nearly asked what kinds of hedge clippers exist. He’d never needed to know about gardening equipment before, and now he was severely regretting his ignorance. “Uh uh uh. One of those bitches that prunes bushes.”

“Like a pruner?” His words were slow and teasing.

Wade braced himself for another amputation, but it didn’t come. Apparently, Peter could ask questions, but Wade couldn’t. This game was very unfair. “Yeah, yeah, a pruner.”

Four toes gone. “It’s not a pruner or any type of hedge clipper. Wrong category, Wade.”

Wade whimpered and banged his head against the table. “Why the fuck did you ask me questions about specific hedge clippers if it was wrong?”

And the fifth toe was gone. “I didn’t say I’d help you. I thought I’d give you guidance to move this along.”

No more toes on his right foot. Three of the stumps had stopped bleeding and burned as they healed. His foot was so overheated that his blood felt frigid as it raked over his oversensitive flesh. It would have been better if Peter had just cut off his toes without needing Wade to participate in his torture. Wade had to think and be hurt? Peter expected far too much of him.

“Five more guesses, Wade. Come on.”

“Or five times for you to find some arbitrary reason to cut it off,” and Wade instantly knew the snark was rash because….

Sixth toe gone. “Don’t be grumpy that you don’t like the rules.”

Wade’s brain refocused to metal cutting implements. “Pliers?”

Seventh toe was tossed into the toe pile.

Wade's eyes darted around frantically beneath the mask, like the darkness would imbue special knowledge. “Giant nail clippers?”

Eighth toe found his toe amongst his fellow fallen brethren.

What happened when Wade ran out of toes? How far was this game going to go? Were his fingers next, section by section. He started to shake, wondering how this game ended. “Bolt cutters.”

The ninth met a familiar fate. “Actually, somewhat close.”

Wade’s breathing sped up as he began to shiver. One left. Was he going to be punished for guessing wrong in an impossible game? His big mouth, though, didn’t let him think it over for too long. “If it was close, can’t you just give it to me?”

Ten toes, and Wade was now a toeless wonder. Imagine the shoes he could wear now.  
“They are aviation snips, in case you were curious.”

Well damn, after all that, Wade was curious, but he’d never heard of aviation snips. He never would have guessed that one. He knew nothing about this tool other than it was a miserable way to separate pieces of one’s body.

Wade relaxed once he realized that the game had to be over. Peter gave him the answer so there was no more guessing. “Are we done?”

“Do you want to be?”

Wade had to think about that, though he would have said “Yes” if he had the slightest inkling of self preservation. At the same time, what else did Peter have in mind? The toe amputations hurt, he was miserable, he felt suffocated with helplessness, but it was a unique experience. And Wade, for some reason, thought it was inexplicably sweet that Peter had thought out this encounter. He’d acquired the equipment, prepped the room, laid in wait for Wade to cross his path. Wade he had come this far, he might as well see what else Peter wanted to give him. “I don’t think I do.”

“That’s lovely to hear. I wasn’t done with you.”

There was a shuffling as Peter arranged for part two.

It took a while for Wade to catch onto exactly what Peter was doing. He felt something sharp on his stomach. It was just a pinprick at first, almost innocent. Then the pin pricking sensation continued and it grew deeper and deeper into his abdomen. Wade didn’t know what to think when he felt something scrape his spine, then pierce his back.

He was speechless. He could not find that part of his brain that would form the words to demand to know what the fuck that was. It hurt, yeah, but it was strangely intimate. Peter used something to touch and prod at places that were never meant to be touched. It was some sharp, narrow thing that effortlessly passed through his organs and carelessly nicked arteries. They had to be some freakishly long needles. Peter pressed one into his left armpit and it exited through his right armpit. Wade coughed and could taste blood. A series of six needles made a loop around Wade’s femur like a ring.

The worst of the pain was where the needle entered and exited, and how it dragged the skin with it. The cool air seemed to zip through the new holes, filling him with empty space and distant thoughts.

He dare not struggle, as not to change the needle’s course through his body and change Peter’s vision. The only thing he could not help was the shivers that wracked his body. He tensed to try to limit the disturbance, but his arms still thrashed against their binds and his teeth clattered.

He screamed gutterally between frantic whimpers and mumbled meaningless fractions of words. Some small part of him wondered if Peter liked his sounds. He wanted so desperately to please his sadist, but every time the thoughts arose, they were shattered by the cacophony of new agony.

Peter squeezed Wade’s mouth and pierced his tongue three times, the needles keeping Wade from pulling his tongue back in. In a way, Peter had taken away Wade’s ability to stop him, but Wade was a million miles away. He was too consumed by feeling like the most adorable pincushion.

His mind’s eye constructed himself as a red and black turtle with a massive, cushioned shell that was full of Peter’s sewing pins. Every needle added clarity to this image and revealed new details. The punctures in his finger joints showed him the turtle’s delicate stitching and the slide through both carotid arteries added the precious little toes.

By the time Peter was through with him, likely because he ran out of needles, Wade had a photo realistic depiction of DeadTurtle. There was no pain, no fear, no tragic backstory weighing on his mind. It was just DeadTurtle and his diligent seamstress, Peter.

Peter removed the needles in Wade’s tongue, allowing Wade to raspily inquire, “Mister Peter, what are you making with those?” His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and it felt like he had swallowed sand. DeadTurtle had been out of the water for too long. His words were slow and strangely formed.

“What do you mean?” Peter continued taking out the needles at a slow, steady pace and plunking them into a container.

“Are you going to hem a dress? Or take in a suit? It must be important if you need to take your pins out of DeadTurtle.”

“I need them for a very important project, I assure you.”

“Tell me, tell me. I have to know,” Wade insisted.

Peter hummed as he pulled at a needle that had snagged on one of the cartilage between Wade’s vertebrae. “I’m making a hat.”

Wade had to know more about this project that required all these pins. “What kind of hat?”

“A big one with all the trimmings. Flowers and tulle stacked to the ceiling.”

“What color?”

Peter hummed as he thought. “Purple. The shade of a purple pinktoe tarantula.” He sounded amused, for a reason that alluded Wade. This was a very serious hat making situation.

While he didn’t know what a purple pinktoe tarantula looked like, Wade agreed that such a hat was worthy of his pins. Peter kept removing more and more to the point that Wade soon realized that this amazing hat would require all his pins.

Once he was a pinless turtle, Peter released his restraints. Peter wiped him down with a damp cloth and carried him over to the bed. Wade sunk into the sheets and clutched onto the blankets like a lifeline. He could hear Peter walking around the room and moving things around. Wade realized he had hands, he could raise the blindfold to see what Peter was doing, but he didn’t care. He was warm and fluffy and he knew that Peter would join him soon.

And Peter did. He crawled into bed and enveloped Wade in a way a man that size shouldn’t be able to with a man Wade’s size.

Later, Peter asked about DeadTurtle, and Wade blushed. He shyly explained what kind of weird headspace he’d found himself in. Thankfully, Peter didn’t laugh at him about it. Peter reassured him that his reactions, while unexpected, were delightful and sweet. The demon savored his sounds and adored his silly subspace and treasured the gift of his masochism.

The next day, once his mind was clear and he’d fully recovered from his experience, Wade would tell Peter he was ready for whatever else Peter wanted to dish out.


	3. Chapter 3

Wade had ideas of what Peter might do to him after their first time together. What actually happened was less and more than he anticipated.

Many people had hurt him before. Hell, he hurt himself when it was the easiest way out of a situation. Pain was a bitter companion as the cancer ravaged his body with every moment of every day. His baseline pain level would lead anyone to madness and suicide. There was no escaping it, no dulling it. Extra pain was just gravy on the pain train. 

The things Peter did to him were, obviously, fracturing and shattering. He couldn’t describe the agony. But then his mind would fade out, leaving emptiness and vacancy. It hurt so much that his baseline would be blissfully ignorable. He was unmade and remade and unmade again. He was a hundred feet deep and notions of up and down had lost their meaning. Peter had taken him out of his mind and into new continents to explore. 

He learned things about himself. He found the meaning of life while his limbs were being ripped off his body. He glimpsed Nirvana, both the band and the place, somewhere between the seventh and tenth spike piercing his lungs. He found new beauty in seeing how his heart beat outside of his chest. 

He had thought that hedonism was only in the pursuit of pleasure, but it was much more delicious when it was mutated with agony. It terrified as much as it enticed him. Peter bulldozed past all the limits Wade thought he might have, and Wade never thought about safewording out. He had tasted more suffering than could be imagined by the mortal mind. It had broken him and taught him to speak the sacred words of pain. 

It taught him how clumsy his former torturers were, himself included. There was no elegance, no intention that spoke of control. Their actions were tainted with anger and hatred, and it was never that with Peter. 

What made it more fucked up was that Peter didn’t need to do this. Peter did it because he wanted to, and he was driven by some ill-defined urge to do so. He could opt out of it if he wanted to. It wasn’t like the feedings, where Peter would return to his gaunt form and go on a rampage. This was something Peter could fight, or handle in the gaps when Wade was dead. If he was a good person, he never would have done what he did to Wade. But he was neither good nor a person. Wade had absolutely no reason to allow him to do it. He didn’t know why he was allowing any of it. 

Wade wanted more. He was petrified. He needed more. He wanted to stop. What had become of him?

***  
Month 3

Autumn had quickly and mercilessly careened into winter. It was going to be a white Thanksgiving at this rate. As the seasons changed, Wade had been taking fewer and shorter walks out in the woods. It was too cold for his liking, and the woods were not as comforting without the animal sounds. Random forest noises, like the snap of a branch or the crunch of a leaf behind him, sent his fight or flight instincts into overdrive. The walks were not the relaxing respite that they had been before. 

He told Peter that he was already feeling stuffed up in the estate and that winter was going to be a challenge. He was considering taking up skiing or snowboarding to chase away the itch under his skin. It was a rather innocuous conversation about the seasons and the beginnings of cabin fever. Wade quickly forgot about it, but Peter did not. Peter didn’t forget things. Peter found wicked inspiration from the strangest places.

Last night, it stormed and it was the first snowfall of the year that stuck. It was a bit early in the year for this kind of weather, but Upstate was notoriously shitty like that. They were blanketed under an inch of snow. It wasn’t much for the region, but it was impressive for this time of year. 

At breakfast, Peter told Wade that they were going on a hike after the meal ended and that he left gear in Wade’s room. Wade was instantly spun into fantasies of what hiking with Peter would entail. Obviously this wasn’t just a hike. Peter had never indulged in Wade’s morning walks, and Wade doubted that Peter was going to begin this fine, snowy morning. It was difficult to calmly eat his breakfast, knowing that horrible things awaited him after the meal. It was nearly impossible for him to keep the questions about the outing to himself. Peter told him exactly enough information, and Wade opted not to push for negotiation. It was more exciting going in blind. 

The sack left in Wade’s room had all the clothing needed for their little trip. Peter always meticulously planned for their “playdates”, as Wade liked to call them. The sadist had a picture in his mind of what he wanted to do and would gather the resources to make it happen. Wade thought it was incredibly sexy and reassuring that Peter was unquestioningly in control. Wade was never safe with Peter. The concept of safety meant nothing to them anyway. But he felt eased that his tortures were according to Peter’s divine planning. 

Wade bowed out of breakfast early, shoving down the meal at lightning speed. The plate may have not survived after he stabbed the quiche with a particular vigor. He skipped down the stairs and bolted into his room to see what Peter gave him. 

It was just clothes. Granted, they were clothes that were perfect for a walk in the woods, but it was clear this wasn’t just a sexual scenario. If so, there might have been some toys, or clothes with easy access zippers, or had some costuming.

The bag had two identical sets of clothing: some long johns, thick ugly wool sweaters, flannel lined work trousers, a scarf, and a hat with the fluffiest poof ball on the top. He was touched that the toe-socks had unicorns on them. It was a nice gesture that showed Peter listened to Wade’s ramblings and knew what he was about. Peter put all the outwear next to the bag. Wade now had enough money to purchase his own gear, but he was still pleased to get gifts like this. They were practical and thoughtful. The boots had deep, severe treads that were perfect for walking in icy or snowy conditions. The jacket was red, with a similar pattern to his leathers. Had Peter got it custom made, or was there some Deadpool fan merch? 

He packed the layers on and threw the bag over his shoulder. The gear was toasty, and he realized he should have waited to put the outerwear until Peter was ready to go. He stuck by the back door, bouncing on his toes, while Peter took his damn time getting himself ready. He checked the weather on his phone, the temperature had dipped to a mere 9 degrees fahrenheit. Chilly, but no worries for a Canadian.

When Peter finally rounded the corner, Wade nearly whined. He was sweaty and dying of anticipation. His employer looked underdressed for a hike on a snowy day, but Wade wasn’t going to comment on it. While Wade was wearing three layers, plus a hat, scarf and gloves, Peter was wearing a windbreaker and no accessories. Peter was hauling a bag of gear, too, and Wade was dying to know what was inside of it. He didn’t ask about that, either, because Peter liked to be a cryptic fucker who only said as much as he absolutely needed to. Based on how low it hung on Peter’s back, it had to have weighed something like fifty pounds. 

Peter opened the door for Wade and sent him into the mid-morning sun. The light was blinding against the freshly fallen snow until their eyes adjusted. 

Peter led the hike and entertained Wade while they travelled over the virgin snow. Wade wouldn’t have expected it, but Peter was a talented conversationalist. That did make sense because Peter had plenty of practice, but Wade would have thought that Peter would have some sort of uncanny-valley type speech mannerisms. Peter could not mimic human mannerisms perfectly, but his speech patterns were generally believable. He had a way with words and could vary his style to coordinate with his conversation partner. It was almost scary how he could turn into a businessman with a poker face that would intimidate a corrupt politician. That version of Peter felt no less real than the pleasant, courteous employer who selflessly cared about the lives of his employees. Or the version that was bantering with Wade about his favorite Die Hard movie. They didn’t feel like the facets of the same person. They felt like entirely different people that could not possibly coexist. 

It was eerie. Only Wade knew the true Peter, who fucked him to death and wore his bones. Wade had grown fond of how his bones looked across Peter’s throat. 

After half an hour of trudging through the snow, they arrived at a widening in the trail. There was a wooden picnic table and Peter ushered Wade to sit while he made the preparations. Peter lifted up a small tarp that covered the makings of a campfire. He set a match alight and threw it between the gaps in the wood. There was another tarp, which was probably covering additional wood to fuel the fire once it burned through the first batch. Peter tended to the fire and got it to a respectable height. From the short distance Wade was away, he could feel a soft heat eating away at the chill that was settling in.

“This is a real nice setup out here,” Wade said over the crackle of the fire. It was cozy, being tucked away in the woods, just the two of them. This was a nice little excursion. He could almost forget that bad things were going to happen to him. Under a different context this could be the beginning of a lovely picnic. 

Peter had given up on talking as he set about his preparations, now that he had Wade where he wanted him. He pulled the gear out of his bag and arranged them on the table. Wade couldn’t keep his eyes off the supplies. Peter seemed pleased that Wade was attentive and organized the gear with a flourish. Out came a tripod, some sort of camera, a metal rod with a square block at the end, a few spools of rope, and a familiar knife. Peter loved that knife, he used it whenever he had an excuse to use it. It was sharp, not scalpel sharp or anything, but enough to accomplish Peter’s goals. It was probably an antique, but Peter didn’t treat it with any delicacy. 

He set about placing the different pieces where they belonged. The rectangular block on the metal rod was placed into the fire. Wade put the pieces together, that was definitely some kind of brand. Peter was going to burn a mark into his skin. What would it say? Would Peter let him see it before it healed up?

Wade’s thoughts were diverted as Peter took up a bundle of rope and unravelled it, tossing it over a branch. He left it dangling and set up the camera and tripod. It was no normal camera. It had two lenses and a huge display that took up the entire back. It looked expensive, like most things Peter owned, but it didn’t have two feet of lenses extruding from it. And there was a little doohickey on the top. 

Peter pulled out a milk crate from under the table and positioned it under the tree branch that the rope was dangling from. He paused for a moment, wiping the snow off the box. Something was going through his mind. Finally, he jerked up and ordered, “Take off your gloves and roll up your sleeves the highest they’ll go.”

Wade scrambled to comply. Peter’s orders were usually a kindness that Wade had a limited time to appreciate. If Peter really needed Wade to do something, Peter would do it himself, come hell or highwater. Wade tossed the gloves somewhere, like they burned him, because Peter was stalking towards him. He fought against his layers of clothing clinging to his arms, but they didn’t budge. 

Too late. Peter was there, holding his wrist down, and here comes the knife. So swiftly, with so much strength and speed, his hand was cleaved from his body. He didn’t have time to feel it, and then the other one was detached. His hands rested limply on the table as blood gushed into the wood grain and between the slats. A surprised shout filled the quiet clearing.

“See, this’ll make it much easier,” Peter casually stated, as if he hadn’t just cut Wade’s hands off.

Wade did not see how that would make anything easier, but he couldn’t find the words for a snarky response. 

No chance to breathe, no chance to process, Peter picked up Wade by the back of his jacket and deftly lifted him up. The world went flying as his view swerved between the sky, the ground, the trees as he was hauled around like a doll. Peter plopped Wade’s feet down on the box he placed under the tree branch. Wade couldn’t hold his own weight up, but Peter didn’t let him fall. Peter kept a firm hand while he did some mystical art to tie a rope around Wade’s neck. Wade couldn’t concentrate on what Peter was doing; he was mesmerized how his blood fell onto the crisp, white snow. Peter grasped for the other side of the rope and pulled until all of Wade’s weight was being supported by his neck. He kept on pulling until Wade was forced onto his tippy toes, dancing to keep his balance. Once Wade was where he wanted him, he tied the rope around the tree.

In Wade’s blind panic, he tried to claw at his throat, only to rub ineffectually with his stubs. The slippery nubs didn’t give him any grip and his efforts scratched off the layer of skin growing over the wound. There were no thoughts, only blind fear. There was no way out, he couldn’t get away from this painful and scary situation.

His mind caught up with him, eventually, and he calmed down and focused on balancing on the box. He tried not to freak out too much as he choked under the rope’s hold, tried not to fixate on the sound of himself struggling to breathe. He was fine, Peter knew what he was doing. The box under his feet was proof. The crackling campfire was proof. The knife laying beside his severed hands was proof. Peter knew what was best.

Peter was doing something behind the camera and a pleased smile fell over his face. It was the smile he had when his plans were being realized exactly as he’d imagined. He pressed a button with a click.

Wade didn’t have time to be self conscious about being on film. Peter never gave him the opportunity to be self conscious; it didn’t fit in their tight schedule.

Peter meandered to a struggling Wade and rubbed his hands along Wade’s front. Soft hands, so frigidly cold, but no less dexterous. He looped a finger around the zipper and tugged it down, allowing a rush of cool air inside. He pushed the jacket off Wade’s shoulder and, what do you know, it was a lot easier to remove the jacket if it couldn’t get stuck around the hands. Peter’s pulling was compromising his balance, so Wade had to dedicate a lot of RAM to staying on his toes.

Peter placed the jacket on the table as he returned to the camera to snap another picture.

Peter repeated the process of taking off an article of Wade’s clothing, then returning to the camera to take a picture, and then going back to remove another piece. Peter made the circuit in his own time, leisurely baring Wade to the elements. Whatever couldn’t be pulled off was cut off and left in a heap in the snow. When Peter removed the pants, Wade passed out multiple times from the oxygen deprivation, for a few brief moments at a time, since he couldn’t support himself and Peter wasn’t helping. It was surprising that Wade hadn’t fallen and broken his neck yet. 

Wade was cold, he was hurting, he couldn’t breathe, and he was hard as a fucking rock. The Wade that was zip tied in the Evil Lair would not have recognized the Wade that was desperate, naked, and strangled in the woods. That Wade from those months ago hadn’t had his brain rewired with unimaginable pleasure and pain. 

As his boxers were tugged from his body, Wade hissed. The air sent icy spears to his dick and balls, but they didn’t shrivel. They were out and proud, encouraged instead of hindered by the oppressive chill. He was shivering, so dramatically that it could be better described as convulsions. He couldn’t feel his ears or nose or fingers or toes. Well, his fingers weren’t attached at the moment, but that was beside the point. He tested to see if he could still move the muscles in his face and they begrudgingly obliged, tugging and pulling in ways he wasn’t used to. He was using his arms to try to bring some warmth to his body, but he had little warmth to spread around. 

Wade couldn’t think of what was supposed to come next, now that he was laid bare to the elements. Peter took a picture, the click was booming. Wade dreamed, for a second, that this was all Peter wanted from him, just a few chilly pictures. In just a second, he’d untie him, redress him in that second set of clothing, and they’d snuggle in front of the fire. It was a romantic thought.

Wade didn’t really want that, and he knew Peter wouldn’t let him off that easy. He wouldn’t have gone through all this effort for only an ounce of Wade’s suffering. 

Peter threw a log into the fire and stoked the flames back up. There was that brand, teasing Wade in his periphery, the end extending out of the fire like a flag. It reminded him that it was waiting to burn itself in his icy flesh. 

There was another thing, he realized. When a person experienced severe hypothermia, there would be a time when the body stops restricting the flow of blood to extremities. He’d heard stories about that from when he was stationed in the mountains. The situation is pretty dire for a mortal at that point, but Wade would beg for that sort of relief. It was very likely that his healing factor would stop that from happening. His veins would just constrict tighter and tighter, denying him any shred of warmth. 

And then Peter did something that Wade could barely comprehend. He began to gather up snow in his hands. Wade was ready for the heat to burn through the cold, but more cold? It was almost unimaginable. He didn’t think he could get colder. You can’t get lower than the basement, but Peter was throwing a shovel at Wade and telling him to dig.

“P-please,” Wade shuddered, his teeth chattering so hard they threatened to shatter. His voice was raw and strangled. “No more. Please, I can’t take the cold. It’s gonna be s-s-s-so cold.”

It didn’t slow Peter, he was meandering towards Wade with a handful of snow. “Oh, really? Big bad Deadpool, afraid of a little snow?”

Wade nearly screamed. Peter was close, maybe a foot away. “I can’t take it. Mercy, mercy. I’ll suck your dick. I-I-I-I’ll, I’ll, I don’t even know what you want. Please. Pretty please with a rimjob on top.” 

As he begged, Peter’s hand floated to Wade’s chest, only to pull away at the last second. “What’s your word, Wade?” he asked, throwing out the lifeline that Wade should take if he knew what was good for him.

Wade couldn’t think of what safeword he told Peter, but he didn’t want to say it, even if he did remember it. If he did, there was a chance Peter might stop. Wade couldn’t bear to interrupt Peter’s plans. It would be a waste to not see them through. He shook his head furiously.

“Oh, well I guess I don’t have to stop,” Peter gloated. 

This time, Wade did scream as Peter pressed the snow into his pecs. The snow melted and sent trails of freezing water down his torso. Wade tensed up, trying to draw his legs into his chest, only to choke himself again. He was struggling between trying to stay warm and trying not to hang himself, and neither side held any winners. He couldn’t control the push and pull between the two impulses that could not coexist. It was frustrating, and he was going to file a complaint because Peter was the worst employer ever.

With nothing left to do, Wade pushed at Peter with his stubby wrists and whined as that didn’t deter Peter in the least. Peter was able to ignore Wade’s efforts and didn’t have the decency to pretend it was difficult. He moved the snow up to his shoulders, around his neck to tease at the rope, down his sternum, along his stomach, sliding to his back, and down his ass and legs. It turns out that being naked in single digit weather is terrible, but being naked and wet in single digit weather is infinitely worse. 

Soon the snow had all turned into water running down and dripping off Wade’s body. Peter rubbed his hands over Wade, but they held no relieving warmth. They were just as icy as Wade was. He moved so slowly there wasn’t even a hint of friction. Wade couldn’t help the tears that he so often shed due to Peter. They fell thickly on his cheeks, and he sobbed harder when they left cold streaks on his skin. He was only making it worse for himself. His calves burned under the strain of keeping himself on hip tip toes. If he relaxed those muscles at all, his vision started to black out.

Peter turned and walked back to the table. Wade expected him to do something, but Peter just took in all that Wade was in that moment. He seemed to like what he saw; liked the pretty picture he made out of Wade’s tortured form. He practically oozed satisfaction with the little examining tilt to his head. 

The camera clicked. Wade hadn’t seen Peter reach for it. He must have closed his eyes. He was having a hard time focusing on Peter, though he should be paying attention. He’d have some hint of what was to come. Maybe he could prepare himself. 

He lost track of Peter again and was sent off his toes again by a blunt, sharp force against his shoulder. His eyes shot open and he looked at Peter for clues. The cruel man was still by the table. Wade inspected his shoulder and there was some residual snow clinging to his skin, the rest on the box below him. 

His brain put the pieces together: Peter threw a snowball at him. Wade couldn’t contain his laughter. It was a spot of absurdist humor in a sea of agony that he could hardly comprehend. It was even funnier when another snowball hit him in the thigh, another on his side, another to his arm. Each time he laughed harder, his chest burning, his pained, insane laughter ringing through the quiet woods. 

It was so funny he lost all sense of awareness within his body or outside of himself, and he was totally unaware that he hung himself to death. 

****  
He came back after a brief chat with Lady Death about how this situation was batshit.

Death was all like, “What is it this time, dear?”

And Wade was all like, “Well, my sweet ivory lady, I was given a choice; I could either freeze or hang myself. I sorta forgot about the hanging bit and here I am for a little visit. How’s your afternoon treating you?”

He had to reassure her that he was pretty cool with all this, and Peter would probably stop if he safeworded out. If Wade could remember what it was again. Paprika? He should ask Peter about that.

Lady Death was a worrier. She wanted all the details and affirmations that he really was consenting to this all. Apparently she didn’t have any other immortals who willingly allowed their repeated, sadistic torture and murder. The trip was nice, though. It gave him time to calm down and recenter. The pain was bad, but the panic had whipped him into a frenzy that made everything ten times worse. The brief death had been the breather he needed but wouldn’t ask for because he certainly wasn’t a wimp. 

“Wade,” Peter tsked. “You couldn’t help from hanging yourself, now could you?” He said it like it was some grand disappointment that Wade died.

“In my defence, I didn’t mean to do that,” Wade rasped with a shrug. He was an ice cube at this point, he was amazed he could talk or shrug. It was such a struggle, with how his saliva was trying to freeze on his teeth.

“I wasn’t expecting you to do that. I had to improvise.” It occurred to Wade now that he was in a very different position than he was when he died. The rope wasn’t around his neck anymore, which was a relief, and the rope was now wrapped around his torso and he was tied to the tree. It was not comfortable, but it was much less strenuous on his body. “I was going to tie around your wrists so it wouldn’t intrude on my pictures, but your lack of hands proved problematic.” He had the gaul to act like Wade’s hand-lessness was Wade’s fault. 

Peter grabbed Wades chin and made him look into his eyes. His frigid fingers dug in and demanded Wade’s attention. He lowered his voice and asked, “On a scale of one to ten, how much are you suffering, Mr. Wilson?”

Without hesitation, Wade spouted, “Chimichanga.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I can’t put a number to what this feels like, Pete. I can’t.” He was wracked with a series of shivers that had him convulsing against the tree bark, scratching up his back.

“You know what would be very cruel of me?” Peter asked, and Wade did not want to know. Peter was going to tell him anyway. “I could cut you down from there. Make you sit on the table. We could have a long meditation on every way you’re hurting. You know I’m detail oriented, so you’d have to be very exact as we discuss it at length. I’d want to know what hurts most. What parts of your body are threatening to fall off? Is the frostbite chewing at your toes? We could talk for hours as you get colder and colder. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Do I get clothes?”

“Of course not. If you warmed up, it wouldn’t be as authentic.”

“That doesn’t sound like a fun time.”

“So much for Plan B. Ah well,” Peter feigned disappointment. “I suppose we can go with Plan A.” He released Wade’s chin. He grabbed at Wade’s wrist and studied the way the beginnings of a hand was growing from the stump. Wade counted his lucky stars that Peter didn’t rip off the growing bits this time. Regenerating flesh was always extremely sensitive. 

Peter put some distance between them and went to the fire. Finally, finally, he removed the branding iron out of the flames. Wade had, once again, forgotten about it and it brought new terror. It glowed, hot and angry. Wade wanted to be warm, but not like this. Peter wasted no time thrusting it into Wade’s pectoral muscles. The smell of his sizzling flesh was suffocating, clinging to his nostrils. The worst part was that Wade thought he smelled kind of delicious.

Wade screamed from the bottom of his soul. Birds flew away, somewhere in the distance. He hadn’t been jabbed with very hot items in a while, but he supposed this had to be the worst he’d ever felt. It was like jumping off a mountain and landing on a bed of spikes. 

The brand was removed and placed back into the fire, but the burning remained, spreading from its origin spot.

“You know what the brand is?”

Wade was processing, he had no words to offer, so he shook his head. He wasn’t at the point where he could look at what Peter marked him with.

“It’s something like my crest. It’s very old, but I’m still fond of it. I’ll admit, I wish I had an excuse to use it more often.” He went back behind the camera. Click. “It’s a view of a spider from above. I believe the young lady modelled it after an orb weaver, bordered with two smaller spiders. Very elegant. I’ve had it revised over the years, but it hasn’t changed much. I can’t get away with using it for business. I reserve it for pleasure. I was wondering if it would show up on the camera.” Peter sighed, admiringly. “It’s gorgeous, Wade. Absolutely gorgeous.”

The brand found a home all over Wade’s body. They took a few minutes to heal, and Peter enjoyed them while they held. Each one got a picture, then Peter would explore the burns with his tongue or fingers, bury his teeth into them. A dozen or so brands left their inpermanent mark, forcing Wade to rediscover what it was like to have feeling wherever they landed.

Peter took him down, eventually. “We are done for today. Think you can walk back to the house?”

Wade didn’t need to say anything. Why would Peter ask such a dumb question when his legs didn’t work and his brain was stuffed with wool?

“Very well. Would you like me to dress you in the spares or wrap you in blankets?”

“Are they the really good blankets?” Wade inquired, hopefully. Peter had these amazing blankets that were very gentle on Wade’s skin, even on the most irritated day. Those sounded like a little slice of heaven right about now.

“Of course I brought the good blankets,” Peter said, as if he was offended that Wade would ask such a silly thing. 

“I want them.” Wade tried to make grabby hands, but his fingers hadn’t grown in yet. “Aftercare blowie when we get back?”

“As many times as you can manage,” Peter winked. 

Peter retrieved the blanket from his pack and rolled Wade into a burrito. The fabric was cold, but it warmed up quickly against Wade’s skin. Peter sat him at the table as he packed away the equipment and smothered the campfire. Wade noticed how his sadist reviewed the pictures on the camera but didn’t opt to share with Wade. At some point, Wade’s hands were removed from the table, but he didn’t see what Peter did with them. Knowing Peter’s tendencies, they were safely tucked in his pack. 

Wade wondered how Peter was going to haul him down the hill, with both their packs to worry about. Turns out, Peter thought about this part too: a wheelbarrow. He wheeled in a rickety, squeaky wheelbarrow from somewhere in the trees and plopped a loopy Wade in it. It wasn’t exactly a horse drawn carriage, but it was more romantic than Wade probably deserved. Peter tossed the bags on top of Wade and Wade had zero complaints about that. He liked the weight and aftercare was going to have to wait until they were tucked in bed, far away from this winter hellscape.

They must have been a sight, if anyone was there to see them: Wade, naked under a sky blue blanket, dozing off in a wheelbarrow while he was getting pushed around by his twinky boss. Peter came out of the whole affair largely unaffected, aside from the bloodstains on his jacket sleeves and a smug, satisfied look on his face.

The afternoon sun peeked through the trees and warmed Wade. Wade drowsed to the sway of the wheelbarrow, letting his mind go blissfully blank. 

It was a pretty great day in the office.


	4. Chapter 4

Month 4

Peter was frustratingly opaque about certain things, but he was open when Wade figured out how to ask the right questions.

Most interesting was about Peter’s businesses. He didn’t know why Peter needed to work, since he was rich enough to have such a sizable and well compensated staff. And since he was so willing and able to pay whatever Wade asked for. He had felt odd about asking personal things of his employer, but he was also being tortured and fucked by him. He gradually stopped worrying about crossing a line by asking questions about things that didn’t directly concern him. 

Peter asked for Wade’s company for lunch, in the bedroom. As per their usual lunch protocol, Wade went to the kitchen to grab a tray with two meals; today it was chicken teriyaki paninis, sour cream chips, and fruit salad.

He happily carried his bounty down the hall, a little pep in his step. Lunch feedings were usually brief and fun. Peter would wring out a quick orgasm, then they would sit and talk while Wade ate both of their meals. The torture play was plenty fun, but it was extremely physically and emotionally taxing. It was exciting to just feel good sometimes. 

His little walk was interrupted by Peter slamming the door to his Evil Liar and skulking down the hall. Peter didn’t even notice that Wade was behind him. 

“Petey!” He called. “Where’s the fire?”

He slowed down enough for Wade to catch up. “Do you really want to know?” Peter sounded annoyed. His hair was tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it relentlessly. This was not the calm, in control sadist who held Wade under his thumb.

Wade almost didn’t insist, but he was too curious. “Yup, lemme hear it.”

As Peter got to the stairs down to his room, he started, “This very fine gentleman decided that he couldn’t handle his foster kid with disabilities. Which, fine, these things happen. There can be compatibility issues, always. I wasn’t even insistent that he foster. Or adopt! I just asked him to pull the right strings in the right places, and he got it in his mind that he should set an example. But he goes on about how those kids should be grateful for someone like them, maybe there’s a reason they are fucking orphans.” They get to Peter’s bedroom, and the door handle leaves a dent in the wall. The hinges aren’t faring too well, either. “He won’t even take my money anymore. He won’t take my money for fucking orphans. How evil can someone be?”

“What an ass — ”

Peter, evidently, was not done with his rant and did not require Wade’s input. “I guess the anti-orphan money feels better in the lobbyists coffers.” He seemed to realize he was louder than was necessary and lowered his volume to a reasonable level. “I hate politicians. They can be useful idiots. While I don’t like to make decisions on who lives or dies, I wouldn’t mind feeding on a few of them. But that means I’d have to be in the same room. And touch them,” Peter shivered. He leaned over and rubbed his temples.

His venting was over, so it seemed safe for Wade to speak again. “I’ve been meaning to ask: what is it that you do?”

“I run a number of charities, nonprofits, philanthropic organizations, that sort of thing.” Peter listed off, like it should be obvious. 

“Huh. That’s not what I thought you did.” 

“What did you think I did?” Peter tilted his head and seemed genuinely curious. 

Wade knew it would be dumb of him to say he thought Peter was a business-y businessman who did business related activities. “Finance? Tech? Lasers?”

Peter gave a dismissive gesture, as though those ideas were ridiculous.“I’m not interested in making money, especially for other wealthy people if I can help it. I can live in luxury forever from my dividends. I help build and fund organizations. And I try to get other people to care about those causes.” He sighed, suddenly running out of steam. “I can’t undo the past, nor forsake my nature completely, but I can throw my money at people who’d make the best of it.”

That was surprisingly wholesome and uplifting, coming from the man who murdered him on a daily basis. Wade looked at him a little differently after that.

****  
Month 6

Peter matter-of-factly announced at breakfast, “I regret to inform you all that Wade will be sick beginning tomorrow and the illness will persist for the next three days. I will be spending extra time attending to his needs during this time.”

The staff members had interesting reactions to the declaration. Some paused, some scrunched their eyebrows, some looked for signs of illness in Wade. Peter’s declaration was inserted, apparently at random, into a conversation about the best kind of seafood, and the table was struggling to see how it fit.

Wade was fairly certain that he was not ill nor would he be scheduled to be ill, if such a thing was possible. Peter wanted Wade to himself for the rest of the week, and this was how he was going about it? Okay, weird, but okay. Wade should count himself lucky. This was more notice than he usually received. He could make peace with his fate in the meantime. Whether that was a gift or a curse was yet to be seen. 

No one knew how to respond to Peter’s statement, so there were a few awkward chuckles and they haltingly returned to talking about the best way to eat tuna.

****  
Peter was outside of Wade’s door when Wade opened it the next morning. “Welcome to your sick leave, Wade,” Peter greeted with exceptional cheerfulness. He was not usually this chipper early in the morning, and Wade was not enough of a morning person to deal with this energy. 

Wade closed the door in Peter’s face and gave himself a chance to prepare for Peter’s chipperness. He grumbled to himself, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He told himself he needed to be more alert, and slapped himself in the face a few times. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t slept well due to a shitty skin night. He could handle Peter’s sadism, but he couldn’t handle when his body revolted against him. Peter’s brutality came and went while the flare ups felt like they’d never end. The worst of the pain had only let up a few hours ago, but that wasn’t enough sleep.

Peter, like a repentant dog, knocked at the door. “Wade? What’s wrong?”

Wade reopened the door once he’d primed himself to meet Peter’s energy level. “Mornin', baby boy.”

Peter instantly perked back up. “Morning. Are you ready for the event?”

“What event?”

“The science fair!” Peter jumped up and shot his hands into the air, fingers spread wide, looking so joyful. “Today we’re starting the science fair.”

Wade flinched. He was glad Peter wasn’t calling it a science experiment, since he might need to safeword out if that was the case. Calling a fair made it sound cute and quaint. 

This was a “thing” with Peter. He’d speak like Wade was in on his ideas. “Now, are we actually going to a science fair, or is this some demon activity where I get super hurt?”

Peter lowered his arms to correct Wade. “I'm not a demon, but no. We are staying in the room.” His voice jumped up again as he tried to energize Wade with his infectious enthusiasm. “t’s gonna be fun! Aren’t you excited for the science fair?”

“I might be more excited if I knew what the science fair was.” Wade scraped the sleep out of his eyes and scratched at an irritated patch of skin where his eyebrow would be. “Or if I had a little more time to wake up.”

“We will be demonstrating some scientific principles relevant to your bodily integrity and adaptability,” Peter rambled off. It was likely a very accurate summary of what was to come, but Peter’s excitability made what should be an ominous warning sound like good, clean fun. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“That tells me absolutely nothing, aside from the fact that this isn’t one of those baking-soda-volcanoes kind of situations.” Once the words were out of his mouth, he couldn’t help imagining Peter putting baking soda and vinegar in Wade’s ass. That sounded hilarious, but Peter took himself far too serious for ass volcanos. 

“You’ll see, you’ll see. Don’t be so impatient!” Peter took Wade’s hand and dragged him into the hallway.

“Do I get coffee and breakfast at least, or will that ruin the testing procedure?” Wade was sarcastic, but Peter didn’t indicate that he noticed.

“Don’t you worry about that!” Peter pushed Wade into the bedroom and quickly closed the door behind them. “See?” he said, gesturing to the cart with a hearty breakfast for one. Huge portions were labelled onto a comically large plate: tall piles of grits, a dozen links of sausage, home fries, and cheesy eggs. There was a full carafe of coffee, with no mug. “Breakfast, then science fair. Eat up, eat up!”

The food was welcome, and Wade was focusing on that, instead of how Peter had decorated the rest of the room. He kept the tarp in his peripheral, along with the bone saw that was nestled at the closest corner. Whenever the tarp was out, it usually meant the day would end with Peter hosing it down in the backyard. There was rope anchored to the wooden suspension rig set up beside the tarp. He wasn’t ready to think about any of that, nor what a saw meant to the “bodily integrity” Peter had mentioned. 

He sat on the bed and dug into the meal. Peter was hovering, bubbling over with impatience while Wade took his time. The demon opted out of his share. He wasn’t bothering to act like a human right now, too excited for Wade’s imminent undoing. 

Wade wasn’t talkative, so Peter kept up a one-sided conversation. “I get why human experiments aren’t allowed. I totally realize that society is better off not allowing it, for the most part. But nowadays, you can’t so much as look at a baby without needing all that paperwork. Not that they should do painful tests on babies, but can’t you interrogate them a little without an ethics board? Anyway…”

Wade ate beyond what was comfortable, just to put off the inevitable. It was nice to listen to Peter’s passionate, long-winded ideas, but he wasn’t in the mood, like he usually was. He wasn’t excited, or nervous; he was just worn out. He didn’t feel like he was in the right headspace for whatever Peter was going to do with the bone saw. 

Wade tuned back in to what Peter was saying, “I used to kick it, do people still say “kick it”, whatever, with the graverobbers. They were not always nice, but they were more interesting than everyone else. I got caught in Philadelphia one time. They stuffed me in jail, and I made pretty eyes at one of the guard — ”

“Peter,” Wade interrupted and put his spoon down.

“Yes?”

“I think I need a nap,” Wade said with a sigh and fell back onto the bed. It felt so nice to be horizontal. It relieved the pressure on his belly, and he rubbed the food fetus lazily.

Peter pouted and stomped his foot. His face popped into view, hovering over Wade. “But what about the science fair?”

Wade implored, “Can’t it wait until after the nap?”

Peter made a whiny noise in his throat.

Wade was so tired, but he reconsidered the nap idea. Pete was eager, and Wade was interrupting the carefully laid plans. It wasn’t Peter’s fault that Wade had had a shitty night, and Wade’s problems were not Peter’s problems. And, looking at Peter’s flushed, pouty lips, he couldn’t hold himself stern. Those doe eyes did things to him. It was definitely a demon thing, but Wade didn’t mind being manipulated if it was by Peter. Wade put his hand over his eyes and groaned. “Fine, fine. I’m ready.”

The whininess evaporated from Peter’s voice, and he sounded concerned. “I didn’t think you were giving in. We were just playing around, yeah?”

“I’m good, Petey Pie. Promise. I was just complaining. It was a bad night, but that shouldn’t ruin everything.”

“A bad skin night?”

Wade was touched that Peter remembered. They’d had discussions about it, but Peter had to keep track of more important things than Wade’s problems. “Yeah, one of those. I’m all right now. It’s science fair time!” He tried to sound fired up and plastered on a smile. 

Despite his best efforts, Peter didn’t believe him. “Wade, Wade, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was serious. Let’s take a nap.”

“No, I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Nope. I refuse to accept anything less than enthusiastic consent. Nap now, science fair after.”

Wade tried to protest, but his heart wasn’t into it. He was going to make some snarky comment about how Peter was not an expert in consent and he just couldn’t manage to get the words out. He let Peter tuck him in, and they set an alarm for a four hour nap. Wade still felt guilty that this day was going off script right at the start.

***  
The alarm took Wade out of a dream about riding a giant taco through the galaxy. Everything was a whole lot better. He was warm under the blankets, wrapped in his adorable sadist, and he felt ready to face the day. He was grateful that Peter had insisted that they get a few more hours of sleep. Now, all he could think about was this mysterious science fair. He was on board with this, raring to go. 

Peter turned off the alarm and popped back up. His excitement had not diminished one bit, but he wasn’t as obvious about it. He probably didn’t want Wade to get swept away again. 

Wade indulged in a full body stretch. “I’m ready for the science fair, after you get me a snack.”

“Yes, dear,” he nodded goodheartedly. “I’ll get a few granola and protein bars.”

Peter hopped off the bed and zipped out of the room. He could have called a staff member, but it was faster if he got it himself. He came back with a basket full of bars and sweet treats to appease Wade.

“I scheduled dinner at five, so you’ll get a break then.” 

Wade was halfway through his granola bar before he remembered the saw and the tarp. It was a little before noon, so he had five hours with Peter and the sharp pointy things. He decided he needed another granola bar to get through this.

When he was done, Peter cupped his cheek and said softly, “Are you ready to be my precious subject.”

***

Over the past few months, Wade often thought Peter had reached the limits of his creativity. There’s only so much you can do with the human body; only so many ways you can hurt and mutilate it before you run out of ideas. There was some repetition, of course, but Peter consistently brought new concepts to the table.

Today, Peter had decided that he didn’t like Wade’s limbs where they were. He repositioned them with the excuse of “science”, but there was nothing scientific about this. Petey didn’t have the decency to write it down, and according to the Mythbusters it can only be science if it’s written down.

Peter dragged Wade onto the tarp, because Wade was too slow, and cut his clothes off. He kept him under foot while he cut circular holes on his side and gouged out the skin. Then, he sawed off his arm and placed it in the skinned hole, holding it until the healing factor glued the arm down. He paid no mind to Wade’s screams and thrashing while he worked on the realignment, nor when the screams stopped when he died from blood loss. He was racing to outpace Wade’s healing factor and things like death were mere inconveniences. Once the arm was attached, Peter sutured around the relocated limb. This served no practical purpose, so it must have been for aesthetic reasons. The needle tickled as it pierced the skin.

The legs were next. They were severed and swapped, reattached so the knees were backwards. They were, once again, sutured. He was a reassembled, quivering mass. It was strange to see his feet facing the wrong way, his hands not being where his brain expected them to be. It took awhile for the nerves to find each other, but he gained control over the limbs eventually. With no anchoring muscles, he obviously didn’t have a full range of motion, nor particular control over the motion he did have. His brain wasn’t mapped to work in the ways Peter had forced him too. If he used too much power on the lower set of arms, the top of his humerus would grind against his rib. He tried to avoid that, as it was painful and make a sickening scraping noise. 

His legs, too, were challenging. Muscles were connected to tendons and ligaments that they never were supposed to touch. Peter flipped him onto his back as Wade tried to sort out how these new connections worked and how to move. 

Peter fed him some of the chocolates while they waited. Wade asked to be fucked, and his wish was granted, but it slowed down the regrowth of his arm. Everytime Wade came, the energy meant to regenerate was siphoned off to feed Peter. Peter was both annoyed that they would have to wait longer for the next stage, but also well-fed so he wouldn’t complain. 

Two and a half hours later, the arms were regrown, so it was time for the last stage. The arms were sawed off and swapped. He could barely comprehend how to use both sets of arms independently. Having six limbs was bizarre enough, but having them swapped and flipped was fucking with him. He had vague notions about where things were and how to move them. His own body felt alien to him. Those were his scars, that was his flesh, but nothing was where it should be. He didn’t know he could be turned into this. He thought his body would reject such perversions to his form, but he adapted. Despite nature and morals and good taste, his body stretched to fulfill Peter’s desires.

Once Peter had all six limbs where they absolutely did not belong, he started with the rope. He never attempted to clean up any of the gore that clung to Wade. He tied Wade in a painless manner, as the dismemberment was painful enough. He positioned Wade to show off the best of Wade’s new, monstrous angles, decorated in red ropes. The ropes were thick and soft, making the bondage very comfortable. Wade looked like something that had clawed its way out of hell, incapacitated by the beautiful, gentle Peter. What a strange, frightening, and fascinating picture they made. 

Wade let himself drift as Peter deftly manipulated him how he wanted. Spread out, proudly displayed to his greedy gaze. There was probably a camera involved at some point, as many of their sessions had recently, but Wade was too out of it to register that level of detail. It was a blur of being contorted into different shapes and orientations. He was lulled by the tight, soft binds and Peter’s reassuring touch.

Dinner arrived with a knock on the door while Wade was still suspended from the rig. Peter had him dangling horizontal, face down. Both sets of arms were restrained behind his back and his legs were bent upwards. It was like being in a hammock, and Wade rocked himself in the ropes, humming a rhythmless tune. 

Peter brought the tray and fed Wade his meal by hand. Wade opened his mouth and took whatever Peter pushed through his lips. It was easy, high calorie foods, like mozzarella sticks, pizza, soda, and chocolate cake. Wade couldn’t appreciate the talents of the chefs, but a full belly was nice. Occasionally he’d made a vague noise and Peter would oblige him with a lazy kiss. Wade would hum and smile and let Peter feed him more. He felt pampered like a cherished pet. A prized, successful science fair project. 

****  
Day 12: Month 6

On day two of their science fair extravaganza, Peter watched as Wade figured out how to move with this new configuration. 

Wade had to learn how to channel his inner flamingo to walk around. He failed. A lot. Peter didn’t let him balance on anything, seeming to enjoy when Wade fell. He stayed out of Wade’s reach and guided him away from any furniture. Wade’s arms weren’t coordinated enough to catch his fall, so he’d fall at awkward angles, damaging his limbs and crying out in pain. If Wade didn’t get up fast enough, Peter would enact corrective measures and would continue until Wade made it back to his feet. It could be a shock from the cattle prod, a strike from a whip, and, most often, a few stabs from a scalpel. Peter was playing up the mad scientist angle with this one. 

It felt like an impossible task. His center of balance sat differently in his body and the new limbs would throw off his stability. He would get random spasms in any of the limbs, which might have been from his brain freaking out about incorrect nerve connections. Wade would manage a few steps and one of his arms would twitch, sending him to the floor. It was endlessly frustrating, but he found himself compelled to keep trying. It would have been easier if he wasn’t being stabbed every two seconds. In a moment of irritation, he made a sloppy grab for the scalpel. He was fully intent on stabbing Peter to see how much Peter liked it. Peter, with his properly located limbs, kept the scalpel away from Wade’s grasp and sliced Wade’s palms open as punishment.

At the end of the day, Wade could manage an uneasy shamble. He could make wobbly laps around the room without crashing into anything. His head hurt from rewiring his brain to run in these new dimensions, and he was so drained from his efforts, but he was victorious. He had done something that his body was telling him was impossible. When he did taste success, he’d laugh at the bubbling sense of accomplishment in his chest. Despite the countless failures, every minor success made him more motivated to get up and try again.

Peter made Wade eat his meals on his own, with a spoon. It took Wade three times as long to eat, and most of the food didn’t make it in his mouth. He might have flung his applesauce at Peter on accident. And if it wasn’t on accident, Peter would have deserved it for being a jerk all day. Peter excused it the first time, but pinned Wade down and cut off his ear the second time. 

****  
Day 13: Month 6

The last day of the science fair was a giant aftercare day. Peter gave aftercare at the end of the previous two days, but he dedicated the entirety of this day to taking care of Wade. He wrung pleasure from Wade’s body after all the pain he had inflicted. Wade could barely speak, just babbling nonsense when he could say anything at all while recovering from orgasm after orgasm.

Peter worshipped the thing he had created, and it did weird things for how Wade saw himself. Peter thought he was beautiful like this. His whole body was caked in varying shades of drying blood, mutated into a mockery of the human form. At this point, it didn’t matter that he was covered in the scars he was so self conscious about. There was beauty in him. Wade couldn’t see that beauty, but he couldn’t deny how reverent Peter was of him. This monstrous form was not sustainable, but he loved how much Peter loved it. 

Dinner was a huge affair, with enough food to feed a small army. Peter fed him like that when he needed to feed the regeneration machine. After dinner, Peter left and returned with a basket tucked under his arm.

“Whatcha doing with that, Peachy Pie?” Wade asked.

“It’s time to put you back,” Peter answered, forlornly.

“What’s that for, though?”

“For the limbs.”

“What do you do with the pieces you cut off, anyway?” Peter tended to make off with different chunks of Wade after their sessions. He wasn’t making jewelry with it, as far as he could tell. After he made the necklace, he had also made earrings, and cufflinks, but hadn’t shown off any new Wade accessories in months. He didn’t always hack off pieces with bones, anyway. Some boneless chicken wings, if you will. 

And like always, Peter replied nonspecifically with, “You’ll see soon enough.”

Wade didn’t know why he expected a more forward answer at this point. But then, it occurred to him that Peter was going to let him in on whatever weird demon shit he was up to eventually. Peter was immortal, though, and his definition of soon was probably quite distant. 

Wade thought the basket would only hold the second set of arms, but no. Peter moved him back onto the tarp and sawed off all six limbs. He cited that if he removed Wade’s arms and they were realigned incorrectly, they’d have to get cut off anyway. It was easier like this, he insisted. Less painful, more humane for Wade, after all he’d gone through. Wade thought he was full of shit and Peter most certainly didn’t care about Wade’s fair and ethical treatment. Peter probably just wanted more Wade meat to do whatever demons do with Wade meat.

***  
Wade had spent the last two nights sleeping in Peter’s bed, and he was craving some solitude in his own room. It was nice cuddling with his sadist, but he needed a solo recharge. Peter let Wade go after he had regenerated his limbs and was self sufficient once again.

Wade had made his room into a sanctuary over the past six months. Peter had sent movers to clear out Wade’s apartment after he accepted the position, so Wade had his stuff. Wade was most excited that he could sleep with his nightlight again. The nightlight was how he knew he was home.

The room had been decorated in a rich asshole, minimalist style that he expected from people like Tony Stark. Peter hadn’t decorated most of the house this way, but it was likely the default design. Wade made the space his own, hanging his weapons on the walls, plastering up epic posters, filling up the bed with enough pillows to make a pillow princess envious, and covering every flat surface with trinkets. He even got some Ikea furniture, for nostalgia and to fill up the empty space. He took satisfaction in getting rid of that grey and black duvet and replacing it with an overstuffed cat-in-space comforter. Wade turned his room into his little slice of the estate, and he was happy with how it turned out. Peter didn’t enter his room, either, so it was truly a safe, neutral zone. 

Tonight, though, he wasn’t finding peace in the solitude, and he didn’t know why. It might have been the intensity of the experiments turning his thoughts all wonky. He didn’t feel right. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t place it. He let himself toss and turn, he played on his phone, he tried to absorb himself in the dankest memes, but nothing was doing the trick. It wasn’t insomnia, it wasn’t a bad skin night, he just couldn’t get himself to settle.

Despite wanting alone time, his mind was begging him to crawl into Peter’s arms. Wade fought it, even if he didn’t need to. Peter didn’t complain about Wade being clingy or needy. Wade had never gone back after they parted ways for the evening, and it felt like he was admitting to something if he did. He felt like he was losing, but he didn’t know what he was losing. He was so confused and the anxiety was sinking barbs into his chest.

At some point, he was compelled to stand and seek out Peter. He had to remind himself that Peter wouldn’t be mad. Peter owed Wade whatever he needed. This was probably Peter’s fault to begin with, and it was his responsibility to fix what was wrong. Wade dragged himself against the floor, having to fight the part of his brain that told him that he was being a worthless, needy bitch again.

It wasn’t easy, but he made it to Peter’s door and knocked. 

No answer.

He waited as long as he could manage and knocked again. He was close to tears and shivering, but he didn’t want to seem desperate.

Nothing. 

Wade hoped Peter was just exhausted, so he opened the door and announced himself softly.

Peter wasn’t in bed. He wasn’t anywhere in the room. He had to be in the house, but Wade couldn’t carry himself any further. He didn’t have it in him to look through the multiple levels to find his wayward sadist. 

Wade slid to the ground and couldn’t hold back the sobs. He needed Peter to make things okay again. Peter could make it right, but where the fuck was he? He knew he wouldn’t get anywhere, crying on the floor. He had left his phone in his bedroom, there was no reason to bring it to Peter’s. Seeing no way else to go forward, he crawled back to his room to retrieve his phone and called Peter.

Peter picked up after two rings, “Hey, what’s up?” He sounded like he was in good spirits, which miffed Wade. Why was he feeling like someone had died while Peter was a-ok?

It took Wade a few tries to get the words out. “Where are you?” he croaked. 

“In my room.”

“No you aren’t,” Wade’s voice cracked. “I’m in your room. Why are you lying?” 

Peter’s tone was soft, placating. “Hey, hey, I’m not lying. It’s a little misunderstanding, that’s all. I’ll be right there.”

Wade couldn’t reply, too tired, worn out, and raw to fight Peter on this issue. He’d seen Peter’s empty room with his own two eyes and Peter was saying he was there all along? He was too vulnerable for deception.He just wanted him to come and take care of him, and this was all too much. 

Wade heard Peter come up from the lower level, and Wade crawled out into the hallway to meet him. The tears welled and fell freely down his cheeks. He held out his arms and waited for Peter to come into them. He made an anguished sound as he felt Peter’s touch. “I went to your room because it was bad and you weren’t there and you said you were there but you weren’t and I didn’t know where you were.”

Peter lugged Wade to sit in his lap and wrapped himself around his crying masochist. He got as much skin to skin contact as he could manage. “Shh, shh. I was in my room downstairs. That’s not my bedroom, that’s our playroom.”

“Playroom?” This flipped Wade’s perceptions on it’s head. He thought that Peter was always sleeping a door away. 

“Yeah, playroom. I didn’t think you’d want to play in my bedroom. My room is, uh, somewhat unpalatable to humans.”

Wade nuzzled into Peter’s shirt. Peter wasn’t a large being, but he had a way of making Wade feel small and safe. “I wanna sleep with you in your room.”

Peter stopped rubbing Wade’s back. “I’m not saying no.” He must have realized he had stopped rubbing Wade’s back and started up again. “We can do that. I’ll warn you, though, that the decor is. Well. I did not furnish it with the intention of having guests. I was not inclined to hide what I am where I was not meant to be seen. ”

“Does it have a space for us to sleep together?”

“It does.”

“Is it comfortable?”

“Very comfortable.”

“Then I don’t care what it looks like. I wanna sleep in your room.”

Wade didn’t have to be insistent about this point, but this was a precious opportunity to get more insight into what Peter was about. Maybe Wade was feeling raw and vulnerable, so he wanted to know more about his mysterious partner. There was another level of intimacy, being in Peter’s space in a way he hadn’t been before. All levels of closeness were desirable at this point. He hadn’t even known Peter was keeping this sliver of himself from Wade. It occurred to him now that Peter had never called the playroom his bedroom. He addressed it in generic terms when he did address it. Wade didn’t think Peter was intentionally keeping this from him, it just hadn’t come up until now.

As a last ditch effort, Peter suggested, “We could stay in the playroom?”

“No,” Wade insisted. The tears were still in his voice, but he was already feeling better after having Peter back. “Your room.”

“Alright, but we can come back up here if it makes you uneasy.”

“You’ve done a lot; I don’t think some tacky interior design will freak me out.”

Peter made a face, as if to say “fair enough”. He scooped Wade up and carried him down the stairs. Turns out, Peter’s room was behind one of the doors that was usually locked during Wade’s explorations. 

As soon as he saw what was behind the door, he knew why Peter had never brought him inside. It was not a large space, especially for how expansive the house was. They might be able to fit four ping pong tables, if they jammed them in tightly. The walls, floor, and ceiling were concrete, painted a matte black that absorbed stray beams of it. There was no bed, no furniture. It was completely empty aside from the webs. There was not a species of spider alive that would be big enough to spin these webs. Large swathes of webbing hung from wall to wall, sweeping through and breaking up empty spaces. Peter had to have made it, somehow, and Wade didn’t have the slightest clue how. That didn’t matter. Wade didn’t have time to think about how these were created and why. 

Peter closed the door and the room was cast into darkness. The only light came from under the door. It wasn’t apparent how to enter without getting stuck, but Peter no doubt had a way. Wade was carried in, and Peter placed him in some sort of hammock. It occurred to him that they must be sleeping in a web sling. It wasn’t sticky, just soft and accommodating to their forms. It was cozier than any hammock he’d ever been in, and it somehow offered support in all the right places. 

It was cool down here. It felt like an underground dungeon in a way the rest of the house didn’t. This space had no pretenses of humanity. It was eerie, and Wade wouldn't have opted to enter it without Peter to guide and ease him into it. Wade had embraced Peter’s inhumanity, after all these months, and entering this space was just another act of acceptance. His breathing slowed as he synchronized his with Peter’s. Peter applied balm to Wade’s wounds with a kiss to his forehead. The weights dropped off his heart.

Wade knew this was what he needed.


	5. Chapter 5

Month 9

While Peter was eager for a meal tonight, he decided he had to practice some restraint. He had eaten lunch, after all, and he didn’t need to monopolize Wade’s time. He certainly wanted to, but they’d never do anything else and Peter had organizations to run. 

He sat in the lounge, sprawling across the couch. He didn’t feel the urge to sprawl, it wasn’t any more or less comfortable than sitting up primly, but it felt appropriate. It was evening, he was supposed to be relaxing, so the situation required informality. He stripped off his jacket, tousled his hair, removed his tie, and undid a few buttons on his shirt. 

He flipped through the channels and stopped on some middling comedy, while researching cryptocurrency. He never thought cryptocurrency would ever get anywhere and he’d ignored it, but he decided it was time to learn. It was complicated and abstract. One of his advisors raved about the illusive blockchain, which seemed more like black magic than anything. As an extremely powerful, knowledgeable entity, he should be able to wrap his mind around it. Maybe he was too old to conceptualize this imaginary currency. 

His staff would peek their heads in from time to time, but they didn’t enter when they noticed he was inside. They were welcome to join him, but he had no doubt that it would be awkward to watch television with one’s employers. He would invite his employees to play games or watch TV, but they kept a respectable distance. While it was understandable, having more human interactions made his mannerisms more natural and Peter liked practicing. 

Today, however, one of his employees saw he was in the lounge and didn’t scurry away. Peter called his attention away from an exceptionally abstruse article as Andy stepped into the room. Andy was one of his groundskeepers, a man in his late twenties who was a few years sober. He had a record and a difficult time finding legitimate work. It wasn’t an uncommon story among his employees. There were occasionally problems with hiring people with troubled paths, but many of them were hard working and wanted to stay on the straight and narrow. Andy was the kind of person he liked to give a few extra chances. A good kid, by all accounts. 

Andy sat on the other side of the couch Peter was on, despite there being other vacant furniture. “Hey, anything good on?”

“Nothing I can find,” Peter said, formulating an expression that conveyed exhaustion, friendliness, and humor. He sat up to offer the remote, “You are welcome to look, if you’d like.”

Andy put up a hand to refuse the remote, “Nah, that’s fine.”

They sat, Andy watching the TV while Peter got distracted by cryptocurrency scams. It seemed like other people didn't know how it worked either, nor how the blockchain fit into any of this. He found himself clicking through pages and pages of how people used the public’s lack of education on the subject to extract money from the uninformed masses. Deception and fraud? That was extremely compelling.

He was halfway through his fourth article about the scammer who disappeared one day, when Andy cleared his throat. “So, uh. So.” He laughed at his own awkwardness. “None of the others will say it, but we are super curious about what Wade’s deal is.”

Peter did have to give it up to him, he had some balls. This could be considered a rude inquiry, though he wasn’t certain what Andy was asking. “His deal?”

“Yeah. We can’t figure out who he is. Family, friend, boyfriend?”

“Ah, that is a complicated question.” Peter felt his relationship was comfortable, but it was not the kind of thing he could summarize in a few words. It would be easiest to say that Wade was his employee, though that didn’t feel accurate anymore. Yes, Peter paid him for his time and body, but they had grown beyond that mere transactional nature. Wade let Peter do whatever he wanted, and that wasn’t because of money. Wade was more than a meal, more than a masochist, more than an employee. He had never been able to be like this with anyone else, due to the nature of his existence. It was freeing to enjoy another’s presence without worrying about their death at his hands. Their relationship didn’t have an easy, convenient label, and it didn’t need to be defined. However, it made answering Andy difficult. “If I had to say what he is to me, he’s kind of a friend, kind of a partner.”

“That makes sense. We talk, you know. Nothing bad, but we kept talking about who he is.”

Peter was amused to hear that the staff gossiped, though it was natural for them to talk amongst themselves. Peter was likely a mysterious figure and the subject of great speculation. He didn’t care for his reputation, so they were free to think what they wanted. “Oh? What were you guys thinking he was?” Peter asked so he could tell Wade later. Wade would get a kick out of knowing that he was a popular topic. 

“He’s a big guy, really built. He doesn’t look real friendly, no offence. We thought he might be a bodyguard, or just a big tough guy you like to keep around.”

The thought of Wade protecting him was hilarious, but he contained his amusement. If only they knew what happened to Wade, the horrors that happened under their noses. “A fair guess.”

“Henry was convinced he was an uncle or cousin. He thought your noses matched up.”

Peter nodded. That seemed like a stretch on Henry’s part, but that was a somewhat understandable error.

“Someone said he was your sugar daddy or something, but that didn’t make sense. He’d have to work at some point, and he just bums around.”

The immortal hummed as his unease with this conversation grew. He pulled his feet back, trying to get more distance from Andy, who was steadily leaning towards him. The couch was not long enough for his liking.

“So it’s like a friends with benefits kinda thing?”

That question was highly unexpected. Andy detoured off the professional, friendly topic, and lurched across the line. Peter was loosely familiar with what “friends with benefits” meant. He knew enough to know it was an inappropriate question for your employer. “That’s not very accurate — ”

“We figured you were screwing him after you’d disappear together all the time. You would go off with him into the middle of the day for hours. It was so obvious.”

Peter felt cornered, curling further into himself and barely taking any space on the couch. He dropped the friendly affect. “I don’t know why you would ask, if you already know.”

“I was in denial. I just had a hard time believing you’d want to fuck that.” His face twisted with disgust, perhaps imagining a naked Wade. 

Peter was no longer concerned with the inappropriateness. He couldn’t believe this man would call Wade, the best thing that ever happened to him, a that. “The company I keep doesn’t involve you, nor what I do with said company.” Peter didn’t like this discussion, and he got up to leave, but Andy grabbed his wrist. Peter could easily break the hold, but he worried he might use excessive force. He had to remind himself that this idiot didn’t know what he was doing or what he was provoking. 

“It does involve me, when you could do so much better. You are attractive and rich. You don’t need to settle for getting fucked by that freak.”

It made sense why Andy approached him. Andy saw Peter as a way to improve his status. It couldn’t be that he had fallen under Peter’s influence. He knew what influence looked like, and Andy hadn’t been acting infatuated with him. Andy must have been trying to slip into Wade’s position, upgrading from a groundskeeper to a well kept bedfellow. Perhaps Andy envied Wade’s lazy, luxurious life and wanted to take up the position. His actions spoke of a man who was blinded by his own ambition. He was taking a gamble that he would never win. 

He thought he was better than Wade. He had no idea that Wade was irreplaceable. Wade fulfilled his every need and allowed him to indulge without guilt. Andy couldn’t hope to take Wade’s place. That pathetic fool wouldn’t survive half an hour of Peter’s attention. Half an hour was optimistic for most of Peter’s victims. “You don’t know anything. Let go.”

“Wouldn’t I look more handsome in your bed? How can you touch all those scars?”

Peter thought about how Wade slept in his room, tucked away down on the lowest floor most evenings for the last few months. He remembered how pretty Wade’s skin looked against his webbing. Those scars, so soft and sensitive under his hand and against his body. Wade was open and raw. He didn’t wear his suit anymore, just let the world see all of his hurt on the surface. Peter loved how they travelled and morphed. It was captivating how Wade looked subtly different from day to day as his body built and destroyed itself. Normal humans didn’t see that, couldn’t see what Peter saw. “Let me go now,” he spat.

“You aren’t listening to me.” Much to Peter’s dismay, Andy’s grip tightened. “Come on, I’m way better than him. Just look at me. I can prove it to you right now.”

There was a different time where Peter would have liked having prey throw themselves at him. Now, he was repulsed by the thought of feeding from this unappetizing energy source. He decided this conversation was over. He ripped his hand away and stepped towards the door. “I refuse to justify my relationship to you. I am not playing your games.” He snatched his jacket and tie off the couch. He found himself falling into the business mindset, and he slipped into his leadership voice. “I apologize, Andrew, but you will not work on the estate any longer. You will be transferred. If you follow me or attempt to speak with me, you will be terminated for sexual harassment. Pack your belongings and leave on the transport tomorrow morning. This is your third chance, and you will not get a fourth.”

Peter marched through the house, trudged into the lowest level, and locked himself in the workshop. He was overcome with irritation and disgust. He sent out an email to make arrangements for Andy and thought more about it. With how Andy leaped effortlessly over those boundaries, Peter became worried that he may have tried this before. He didn’t tolerate harassment or quid pro quo in his businesses, and he needed to conduct an investigation to identify potential transgressions. He wasn’t going to subject his employees to a jackass that thought he can do whatever he wanted. 

Once he put the pieces in place to handle Andy’s immediate future, he was stuck. He had these messy feelings, he didn’t want to face Wade while this was unsorted, and he felt uninspired to work on his numerous projects. 

With nothing better to do, he did what he did best: he planned. 

****

The next afternoon, Peter placed a garment bag with the suit in Wade’s room. The suit was only a few weeks old, and Peter was pleased to have an excuse to see Wade in it. It was a solid black affair that accentuated every curve and showed off Wade’s best assets. A good suit sharpened Wade’s angles, and Peter would only allow Wade to wear the best. 

After dinner, Peter told Wade that they were going out, and that he would appreciate it if Wade avoided underwear. Simple, not too many instructions. Keep him guessing. 

Wade obliged, excited about this little adventure. Peter didn’t leave the house often, let alone the estate, so this was a treat for them both to go out. Wade was so excited, in fact, that his suit was out of sorts. His vest wasn’t buttoned, the collar was standing up, and he somehow wrinkled his freshly pressed trousers. Peter took the time to set him right. He had to admit it was nice to fuss over Wade while chiding him for his bad manners. Wade did not share Peter’s love of fine men’s wear, but he didn’t have to be such a heathen with his disrespect.

The tie was worse than he had thought. He gave Wade an annoyed glare to convey how displeased he was at the fine silk’s treatment. He’d never seen a tie so incorrectly arranged upon a person. A corpse would likely have worn it more correctly than Peter’s beautiful masochist. Somehow Wade had found a way to tie it inside out and backwards. Wade was competent in many ways, but that did not extend to dressing himself. It wasn’t worth it to chastise Wade and he was kidding himself if he couldn’t admit that he liked fussing over Wade.

It was a pity that Wade didn’t share his love for moderately formal men’s wear. Wade wasn’t opposed to the fashion song and dance, so it was his pleasure to prepare Wade as he saw fit. He didn’t necessarily need to mutilate Wade to mold him into an even more appealing shape. Not that Wade was ever unappealing, but he appreciated the gesture of control. Sometimes Peter could just step into Wade’s space and use his nimble fingers to tie a windsor while he licked into Wade’s mouth. 

Peter retreated to take in Wade’s polished look and was satisfied. There were a creases that weren’t supposed to be there, but they would take too long to fix. He reached into his back pocket to remove a small black box, made of cardboard. He’d removed it from the velvet one it had arrived in from the craftsman because he thought the packaging might be too intimidating in its formality. He presented cufflinks, cast in silver in Peter’s spider motif. He didn’t want to make a spectacle of gifting them, so he applied them and dragged Wade into a long, deep kiss so that Wade couldn’t inspect them. 

Peter had to pull away so they didn’t spend all night in the foyer. He called the driver around and shuffled Wade into the backseat. He distracted Wade with some heavy petting and groping after Wade started asking the usual questions: where are we going, what are we doing, why do you never answer my questions. What was the point of answering those when he would see soon enough? Plus, Peter liked Wade when he was bursting at the seams with anticipation. Peter would tell Wade what was going on when it became relevant and, as there were no concerns about consent issues, Wade didn’t need to know. Wade hadn’t said no to a single thing Peter did to him, and he probably never would. Thus, Wade’s excitement shone through his non-verbal cues, which Peter found charming. His knee would jump up and down, his eyes would dart outside the car to search for clues, he’d prod to see if Peter might accidentally give details. 

It was a considerable trek into the city, which was slowed due to the usual traffic. Peter teased Wade relentlessly with tender touches on his thighs, kisses and hickies on his neck, circular scratches on his scalp. By the time they arrived, Wade’s eyes were already heavy-lidded and unfocused. Wade usually sank into this headspace with pain, but it was nice to see Wade arrive to it peacefully. The backseat of the car was a bubble of contentment.

The car pulled up to a nondescript, unsigned building on the outskirts of the downtown area. Peter guided his dazed companion out of the car and they entered, arm in arm. There was a pleasant looking woman at the desk. It was a small, dark room with dark furniture, and the woman wore a matching turtleneck. It was either cozy or claustrophobic, but either suited Peter just fine. “Good evening,” she greeted. “May I have your ID’s so we can sign you in?”

“Of course, Sara,” Peter replied, after reading her nametag. He reached into his wallet and retrieved his and Wade’s driver’s licenses. Wade looked surprised that Peter had his ID, but made no mention of it. Peter slid them over the counter for her inspection. 

She checked the cards under the light, then compared the names against her records. “I have you here, Mr. Wilson,” she said and slid Wade’s card back to him. “And we have you here, Mr. Parker. We have you checked in. I see that this is your first time here, so I’ll need to give you a refresher: please respect the traffic light system, receive explicit consent if you aren’t sure, put down puppy pads to keep body fluids off the furniture, and we do not allow video recordings of any kind. We have a comprehensive list of the rules on the walls, if you need a refresher, but those are the major ones.”

They checked in their phones, for retrieval upon their exit and made their way into the venue. 

Once they were out of earshot, Wade prodded at Peter, “Parker, huh?”

Peter realized that he had decided on his last name and had yet to tell Wade about it. It wasn’t a topic that came up in the day to day. “I thought it sounded nice. Do you think it suits me?” That was partially true. Peter had a very kind human in his past with the surname Parker and thought it would be a nice gesture.

“Peter Parker? Sounds a little fake. Too much alliteration. It’s the kind of name you invent when the author needs help remembering their character names.”

“Oh really? Wade Winston Wilson is going to say my name sounds fake?”

Wade fake gasped at the comeback, but conversation fizzled out as they entered the club. If Wade didn’t know what sort of place Peter had taken him, he had to have known as soon as they entered the main room and bore witness to the orgy pit. There were around a dozen men and women writhing and moaning in the pillowed, recessed area. There were voyeurs lining the room, and rogue pairs or triads engaged in various configurations wherever they found the floorspace.

Peter had to press close to be heard over the noise, “Do you want a drink?” 

“What, are you trying to get me drunk to have your way with me?” Wade acted appropriately scandalized.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to get you drunk for that. Can you even get drunk?” He only offered because he thought Wade might benefit from a distraction from the stimulating environment.

“Nah, and I don’t care for the taste either.”

“You could have just said you didn’t want a drink,” Peter shot back with faux annoyance. 

“You could have just told me we were going to a sex club, but you distracted me instead.”

Wade was always bringing up the past, instead of letting himself go with Peter’s flow. What happened five minutes ago wasn’t relevant to this moment and was not irrelevant. “I thought you’d like it here.”

“I do!” Wade was obviously interested in his surroundings. His gaze shot from group to group, never focusing for long on any particular act. None of the humans stole his attention, which made Peter giddy. “I bet you brought me here because you missed the orgies in hell.”

“Not a demon, never been to hell.” This inside joke he had with Wade had grown on him. It had irritated him to be called a demon when that was not what he was. He was an undefined, immortal entity that fed off the sexual energy of humans. He was not subservient to some deity. However, over these months, Wade’s insistence that Peter was a demon felt like a pet name. “I’ve never been in an orgy. Any group intercourse would end after the first person perished. A shame, really.” Peter began pulling him deeper into the club, as they’d been lingering in the entrance too long and people were piling in behind them.

Wade raised an eyebrow in the way he did when Peter said something decidedly inhuman. “See, you could have an orgy if you formed a cult.”

Peter laughed to himself. Same conversation, different day. “Wade, forming a cult is not the answer to everything.”

“Why are you so against the cult thing? You can do that resurrection thing that people find so impressive. I’m not pretty enough to be a cult leader, but you. You’d be a magnet. You’ll have lines of willing people who would eat that shit up. Orgies for days.” Wade’s fingers figited on Peter’s arm, and he licked his lips. “You wouldn’t have any time for me with your devoted, endless flock.” Wade’s positivity diminished as he kept on talking, ending with a sour tone.

The idea of feeding from anyone else was nauseating. Peter was still off-kilter from his interaction with Andy yesterday, and he couldn’t stand to listen to Wade’s careless suggestion. Peter jolted them both to a stop, and his hand shot to Wade’s throat. This drew a little attention to them, but the onlookers likely thought this was part of a scene. “Would you like to be a kept man while I satiate myself elsewhere on whoever wants my attention?”

“I mean, aren’t you getting bored of eating the same thing all the time? I couldn’t eat poptarts for every meal.” Wade’s voice was strained. Peter was probably squeezing it too tightly, but he wasn’t inclined to loosen his grip. 

He fought off the urge to call Wade a liar. If Peter didn’t push Wade to eat healthy, complete meals, he would absolutely eat nothing but poptarts. “Do you want me to leave you and eat my fill elsewhere?” His question was, ultimately, pointless. Peter didn’t care to feed from others, nor did he like the idea of taking life when he didn’t need to. Even if he wasn’t addicted to the taste of Wade, he couldn’t justify the cost to his conscience if he was to eat elsewhere. Peter was going to feed from Wade as long as Wade would allow it, but he was not going to accept Wade thinking Peter wanted anyone else. 

Defeated, Wade said, “It doesn’t matter what I want. You are the boss, right?” 

It was clear Wade needed reaffirmation just as much as Peter did. As always, Peter’s planning was impeccable, stretching beyond what he’d intended. He was frustrated that he had apparently not done enough to allow Wade to be confident in their dynamic and somehow think he was replaceable. 

Peter kissed Wade’s cheek, slow and cherishing. “I intended to allow you to socialize and take this all in. Maybe play with someone here, if they caught your eye.” Peter didn’t demand exclusivity as part of their arrangement. Who knows, Wade could have been seeing other people when he was out on his days off. If he was, he never said anything about it. He definitely didn’t have a consistent partner. Wade was taking his weekends less frequently and for shorter periods of time and only spoke about visiting his daughter. 

Part of Peter wanted to watch Wade with someone else. He wanted to see Wade unsatisfied with mortal intercourse and fall back into Peter’s arms. The other part of him wanted to lock Wade in their playroom forever. 

“You’d bring me out to fuck some rando? Watch me fuck some Becky or Chad?” He sounded baffled by the suggestion.

“If you wanted to, yes. I can’t allow that now, and I hope you’ll forgive me for that.” It wasn’t his fault that his apology didn’t sound genuine. 

“You obviously think it’s much easier for me to find fuckbuddies than it actually is.”

That was enough. Wade had done enough talking. Talking privileges were revoked until further notice. He squeezed hard enough to be sure of it. He hauled Wade into the third room and found what he was looking for: an unoccupied sex swing, centrally located with a decent sized crowd. It was made of high quality materials, which was vital for what Peter was about to do to it. There was some electronic music in this room, which would give Wade and Peter freedom to talk openly with each other without being overheard. He let Wade go and ordered, “Strip. Now.”

Wade was disoriented with Peter’s mood and demands. Peter wasn’t usually this affected by Wade’s words. “What?” He looked around to see how many people were there, talking among themselves, looking at Wade and Peter. “I thought you put me in the fancy pants getup to do something in it.”

“We had to meet the dress code to get in.” Peter didn’t only make Wade wear the suit for the dress code. He mostly wanted an excuse to see Wade in his new attire. “I want you to take off your clothes and fold them nicely on the floor.”

“Really? Can’t we just slide the pants down a little to get to the good bits?” Wade made a gesture to demonstrate how little skin would need to be on display for their mutual satisfaction. 

Peter was steel. “No.”

“Please? I don’t really want to be all out here.”

“And why is that, Wade?”

“They don’t need to see all this.” Wade gestured vaguely at his torso.

“Why do they matter? I’m the one fucking you.” He wanted to say, I’m the only one that should matter to you.

“It would kill the mood if people were vomiting in the corner.” Wade shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I know it doesn’t bother you, but most people don’t want to look at it. We are already getting stares.”

“They are staring because we are near sex furniture, and they are waiting for the action to start. Which it will when you stop humming and hawing.”

“They are wondering what the freak and the twink are up to.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think. This is between you and me.” Peter knew he was being dishonest. He brought them out here to have an audience. They could have had sex at home, like they did all the time. However, the people around them were a prop, and what they thought was not any of Peter’s concern. 

Wade whispered, sharing his vulnerability, “I don’t need to be reminded what I look like in their eyes.”

Peter knew this wasn’t fair of him to say, but it didn’t stop him from asking, “Do you need to safeword out?” Peter didn’t take pleasure in the spark in Wade’s eyes that told Peter that he had won, but he genuinely thought that they both needed this. This was a different kind of struggle that Wade hadn’t endured when Peter was torturing him with new and innovative methods. This was Wade unexpectedly having to confront his demons. “Because, if you aren’t, I need you to stop worrying about those people who you’ll never see again, and I expect those clothes to be on the floor. Neatly.”

Wade did not look pleased with Peter, to say the least, but was unwilling to step down. He glued his eyes to the floor as he revealed his skin, inch by inch. The cloth seemed reluctant to leave the bare flesh to fend for itself. Wade folded his jacket in quarters, which made Peter cringe at the lack of respect for the fine textiles, but he understood that Wade was doing what he asked for. This was better than watching Wade crumple the clothing into a ball on the floor, but it didn’t mean he liked it. Wade took his time, giving everyone a good, hard look at his body. He didn’t rush through the process and diligently paired up his socks. He was steeling himself against the judgement he felt was being levied at him and tried to put on a brave face.

As much as Peter liked watching Wade strip, his gaze was darting around the room. If he didn’t like the way the crowd was looking at his partner, he’d stare at them until they decided something else demanded their attention. He didn’t need these onlookers ruining this for him with their worthless opinions. Thankfully, there were only a few rude voyeurs that Peter had to correct. 

Once Wade was nude, Peter lowered Wade into the swing and strapped him in. There were leather restraints for the ankles and wrists. Wade kept his eyes pinched shut and flexed his feet in the air. Peter was almost offended that this, a little bit of exhibitionism, proved to be more terrifying for Wade than the sadism. Wade wasn’t shy about his body, never with Peter. Peter had anticipated a little resistance, but he couldn’t have foreseen how much Wade would struggle with this. He was aware Wade had issues with his perception of himself, but it didn’t seem significant anymore. Peter realized he had made an incorrect assumption. It was, perhaps, naive of him to think those hang ups would vanish so easily. 

Wade didn’t call an end to it, though. Despite Wade’s discomfort, he hadn’t used his safeword yet. 

Peter stroked Wade’s body with splayed hands. He covered Wade with soft grazes and scratches until Wade began to loosen up. Wade made soft noises that Peter couldn’t hear, but he could feel the rumbling as he pinched Wade’s nipples. It took time for the tension to drain out of him. Peter patiently massaged and teased him to hardness.

Wade took some convincing to relax. It was like he had realized that his guard was down, and he would begin to frantically look around the room. Peter covered Wade’s eyes until he eased back into the restraints. Peter gently encouraged him to settle and let Peter take care of him. Wade had been able to go down into a pliable, submissive state over the past few months. He wasn’t all the way there yet due to his nervousness, but he would be soon enough. 

The crowd was likely bored with this mundane, tedious foreplay. They might have paid attention again as Peter unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He removed the packet of lube from his back pocket, slicked himself, and rubbed a dollop on Wade’s untouched hole. 

As he leaned over Wade’s body, he murmured, “Be quiet, darling.” He liked the way Wade looked at him disbelieving, at this new pet name. He hadn’t called Wade, “darling,” before, and he decided that he would use it again. “You can’t let them know how much it hurts.”

He forced his way into Wade and moaned as he felt the sensitive tissue tearing. Wade grunted, a sound that could have been pain or pleasure, and was probably a mixture of both. He usually didn’t prepare Wade unless he was being exceptionally kind and he could not extend that kindness now. Peter imagined he felt Wade’s blood drip down his cock, pooling on his scrotum. He loved making his own place inside Wade, how his walls shivered. Wade had confessed that this was a very good, but very personal kind of agony that he couldn’t get used to. 

He didn’t give Wade time to adjust. That would have been too kind and given him room to think. He immediately took hold of Wade’s shoulders and brutalized Wade’s sore, aching hole. Maybe he was fucking him a little too hard, for what most humans were capable of. Wade’s cries drove him on. His thrusts violently shook the rig it was attached to, the creaking competing with Wade’s screams. Bruises blossomed on Wade’s ass as fast as they healed.

Peter allowed himself to examine the faces of the crowd. The humans around him who were witness to his claim seemed to be impressed, horrified, or annoyed with how loud they were being. 

“You feel so good,” he praised. “They are watching. They want a chance to pound your ass.” He realized this wasn’t true for the majority. That gentleman in the corner, furiously masturbating, may feel that way, though. He said it for the sake of dirty talk, which he knew Wade was fond of. “No one else can take me like you can.”

He did not expect a reply. Wade was so trapped in his pleasure that he could hardly do anything other than take it. 

His goal of this whole thing wasn’t to draw it out. He wrapped his hand around Wade’s dick and stroked him so roughly that he might have rubbed off some skin. Wade didn’t notice, or care, as he became louder and his tension ratcheted up. 

Peter knew exactly how long it would take Wade to come and leaned over to talk into Wade’s ear. He removed the hand from Wade’s cock, because, if he thrust at the right angle, he could use his stomach to provide the stimulation. It required some creative spine work, but it was worth it to be able to talk openly to Wade. 

“I bet you feel so sore. I never gave you a chance to heal, so I’m keeping you aching. It must throb so much, but here you are, loving every second. Were you like this before? Were you a pain slut for anyone else before me?” Peter found himself hating the idea of an unworthy human tasting Wade’s exquisite masochism.

Wade was not present enough to realize he’d been asked a question. His eyes were open and unseeing. The crowd he’d been so worried about was a distant memory now. Peter was pleased he could be the only thing in Wade’s world while they were surrounded by people. 

Peter delivered a swift slap to Wade’s cheek to get his attention. “Who taught you how to be a pain slut?”

That pulled Wade back into his body. “You did, you did. Please, it’s so much.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to come. Oh, please. Let me feed you. You know how delicious I am. Don’t you want a taste?”

“I’ll decide when that happens.” Peter’s tone was low, slow, and dangerous. It contrasted with how aggressively he was tormenting Wade’s body. “I’ll decide when you come all over yourself. I’m going to kill you in front of all these mortals, and they will have no idea. A room of people is going to watch you die. And they are going to watch me fuck your corpse until you come back.”

Wade looked conflicted, like he shouldn’t have found that as sexy as it was; like he was offended that it turned him on. 

To some extent, he was doing this to prove to Andy that Wade was worth it. Obviously Andy wasn’t here, but he could imagine him, someone in the shadows, watching Wade take it like he was born for it. He wanted to show him, and anyone else that they could not hold a candle to Wade. He could imagine most here would not want their bodies brutalized in the same way. None of them would desire similar treatment after watching him annihilate Wade; exactly as Peter wanted. He spent so long trying to look appealing and to blend in. He wanted to be off-putting and to push everyone away from them. Peter was getting worked up in a way that sex alone didn’t do to him. His body was losing the rigidity he kept to maintain a human facade. It didn’t slip entirely, but his joints were looser, and his limbs extended and shrunk to better please his companion. 

“They aren’t going to know that I’ve killed you, right in front of them. None of them compare to you. You are so much better than any of them can hope to be. They can’t do what you do and. I. Don’t. Want. Them.” He slammed his hips in time with his works, hard and bruising, to accentuate the point. He had a passing concern that the swing might fall. The structure was not built to withstand Peter’s strength, though Wade probably wouldn’t notice if he dropped at this point. 

Humans probably considered it rude to use sex to make a point. Partially, he liked that Wade was half out of his mind, too far gone to argue with him. He wanted Wade to shut up, soak up his pleasure, and listen to the words Peter wouldn’t dream of saying outside of the current moment. And if he was too intense, he could blame it on the fact that it was said in the heat of the moment. Plausible deniability.

There were stirrings in Peter’s chest, and he used that sensation to drive deeper. He wanted Wade to feel this in his throat. He wanted Wade’s thoughts to be consumed with him. “Fucking gorgeous. You are mine, right? Myn lykyng, aren’t you mine?” The old words rolled off his tongue like they had centuries before. The only difference was he meant it this time; he meant that Wade was the one who delighted him and pleased him. 

“I’m whatever the fuck you want me to be if you’ll let me cum. Please, Petey. I can’t.” Wade’s hands were clenched, and his toes were curled.Tears were streaming down his face, and he looked absolutely miserable. How cute. “Mercy, mercy.”

“My apologies, I don’t know what you mean by mercy,” Peter teased.

“Tell me I can cum. Pretty please. Pretty, pretty please.” Wade hiccupped, and his breath caught in his throat. “Why are you teasing me? Please be nice to me.”

Peter decided that Wade had taken enough. That begging was very nice, very convincing. He could feel Wade’s energy, spilling over the wall that kept it away from Peter. He angled his hips to rub against Wade’s prostate and applied further pressure to his dick. To seal the deal, he bit Wade’s neck. The combination of factors quickly drove Wade over the edge. He made a mess between their bodies, and his head fell back.

To hide Wade’s death, he kept pumping in and out of Wade. He slowed down and relished how the waves of energy poured into him. It was a warm, sweet sensation that travelled through his fingertips, down his arms, and into his chest. The energy flowed, feeding his heart to beat stronger, his lungs to take in more oxygen, to loosen up the constriction in his veins. It let his organs function better, more efficiently, and it increased his body temperature. Each person’s energy felt different. Wade was a tingling under his skin, kind of like how he imagined capsaicin felt. The energy ebbed and flowed, teasing his insides, and keeping him lively and content. 

He stood up and lazily looked around at the crowd again. His head lolled about as he took in the expressions. There was a lady who looked at the floor, flushing as Peter’s gaze reached her. There didn’t seem to be any conversations going on. There were no noises other than the music coming through the speakers. Based on what he was seeing, their display didn’t turn anyone on, aside from that guy in the back who came all over himself. Humans. There’s always a weird one. Still, he was happy that their little show was generally unsettling for the observers. 

Wade gasped back to life. He used to panic when he came back because he was used to dying and reviving in stressful, violent situations. Nowadays, he came back subdued and with a smile. He seemed to like the drained, spent feeling after Peter fed. Wade once said it was like being drunk, or like how he remembered getting drunk used to feel. The effect wore off after a couple of minutes, and the tiredness went away after half an hour. 

Wade tried to move his hands, forgetting that they were restrained. He made a sound of annoyance but didn’t verbalize his issue.

“What can I help you with, Wade?”

He waved his hands and complained, “I can’t kiss you like this. I wanna kiss.”

“Ask, and it shall be given.” 

Peter kissed him for a few minutes. He was quite fond of kissing after he finished his meal. There was no urgency, and his hunger didn’t get in the way of enjoying it. It was a nice sensory experience, in the same way eating human food was nice. The languid swipe of Wade’s tongue over his was pleasant. Kissing didn’t benefit either of them. Peter hadn't had the luxury to interact with a human intimately without ulterior motives before now. It was another thing he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy without Wade. 

“My Petey,” Wade whispered, like he was responding to what Peter said earlier.

Peter had thought he would feed again before he left, but he decided against it. Not after that. Now, he just wanted to take Wade out of the swing, put him back in his wrinkly suit, and hold him close. 

****  
The next afternoon, he decided it was time. He had been waiting until Wade would be ready to see it. Out of everything Wade had endured, this was something that might drive him away. After their night at the club, he felt like he had already revealed things about himself. Wade appeared to be open to this closeness.

Wade had been good about not asking too many questions and taking Peter’s evasions on the chin. It was only fair that Peter gave him something, after all this time. Peter never thought that Wade would stay with him that long. The other immortals he’d approached had little interest in his proposal and hadn’t allowed more than one or two feedings. When he sought out Wade, he had little hope of finding an alternative to taking countless lives. Wade had accepted all of this; he would be able to handle another of Peter’s quirks.

“Dear-ling, would you come with me?”

Wade took Peter’s offered hand and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, is it time already?”

“Yes, it’s time.” Peter smiled privately because the sex would come later. As long as Wade still wanted that.

Peter dragged Wade down to the third level. Wade noticed quickly that they were not going to the playroom, and he grew quiet. They passed by his bedroom, by the main storage area, by the locked workshop, and stopped in front of a door. It was in the deepest, darkest part of the house. He didn’t want anyone to stumble upon it and made it seem innocuous if someone managed to find their way back there.

There was a thumbprint scanner for this room, combined with an old fashioned key. They shuffled into the room and, while Peter had never had a bandaid put on him, nor had he had one removed, he was trying to rip off the metaphorical bandaid quickly. He wanted Wade to take it in at his own pace because he knew exactly what this looked like. 

First, the eye would be drawn to the four canvases on the far wall. Each one was three feet wide by five feet tall, arranged side by side. It was a series of paintings he created based on the infrared pictures he took of Wade on that frigid morning. He’d wanted to see how Wade looked as the vibrant red heat his body produced was consumed by the cold surrounding him. He thought it was beautiful how each picture features him losing the battle against the elements. The greens, then the blues crept up his arms and legs. Wade’s posture, too, degraded over the photographs, and Peter loved painting the curves of agony. The snowballs Peter threw at him were grey shadows on a chest that was clinging to the memory of orange. He had never meant to make four of them. He thought he’d paint a big, bold piece for his gallery, but once he made one, he knew he needed to complete the set. One painting didn’t tell the whole story, and Peter was fond of that story.

There was a shelf, full of Wade’s body parts in jars. His ear was suspended in lilac-colored preservation fluids and posed with sprigs of rosemary. His fingers were wrapped around a rose. Peter decorated the jars with bows and ribbons and tags below each specimen that indicated their collection date. 

He prominently hung a small collection of toys on the wall. Peter had skinned Wade’s back during one of their sessions. He'd treated and dyed the skin black, then cut it into strips for a flogger. He'd added spiked, metal rivets onto the ends for extra bite. The handle was cut from the bottom part of Wade’s femur. He'd used the other half of that femur to construct a dildo. He'd sealed it, so he could hypothetically use it, though the citrines embedded in the lower portion could lead to problems. 

There was a chair that was upholstered with Wade’s skin, crudely sewn together from scraps Peter couldn’t bear to waste. Peter had tattooed an image onto the chair, from memory, of when he snapped Wade backwards and introduced his knees to his shoulder blades.

After some time, Wade asked, “What is this?”

“My Gallery.”

“Is this.” Wade swallowed loudly in the tense silence. “Is this all me?”

“Yeah.” Peter had a Gallery filled with mementos from other people, once upon a time. He didn’t like to think about that, now. He got rid of those, buried them in a way he couldn’t bury the memories. “If I was to compare myself to humans, my cruelty and mementos of my cruelty bring me excitement, much like sexuality.” Like human sexuality, he wouldn’t die without being able to express himself that way, but it made him feel confined and unhappy. He spent decades resisting his urges, and now he was in near constant euphoria. He was well fed, and his needs were met. He didn’t expect Wade to understand what this room, and what its contents, represented.

“I was always wondering why you stole my bacon bits.”

“Yeah, it’s — ” Peter was stuck. He didn’t know what else to say. “It’s here. Whatever I couldn’t use went to the beatles, or — ” he cut himself off before he could say more. 

“Or?”

“I suspect you don’t want to know, Wade.”

“You made a thing with my nails.” Wade pointed at the dark wooden plaque on the wall. Peter had pyrographed an image of Wade with all his limbs removed and framed it with Wade’s fingernails, tipped in silver foil. “I can’t imagine how much more grotesque this can get.”

This one was the only one Peter had glimmers of embarrassment about. It was all excessive, but this was a little more. “I’d smoke them.”

“You smoked them, like a blunt?”

“No, no,” Peter laughed. “Like you smoke beef. Pork.”

“You don’t need to eat, though.” Wade sounded like he was doubting himself.

“I don’t, no.” The blushing immortal shuffled over to a small set of drawers and pulled out one of the vacuum sealed pouches of meat. He tended to store little bits and bobs that he didn’t want to display, including bone fragments and some of the sinew string. While he was proud of his foray into the culinary arts, he couldn’t think of a good way to display it.

“How’s it taste?”

“Fine, not much different than a lot of human food does. Very chewy.”

Wade shrugged. “Can I have a piece?”

Peter gave him a hesitant, “Sure,” and tore the package open.

“You don’t have to share. I don’t know if it messes with your mojo.”

“No, it’s not that. I like the process more than the result.” He handed over one of the two pieces in the pouch to Wade. There was no sense resealing the bag, so he shoved the packet in his pocket and nibbled on his own piece. 

“So what is it?” Wade questioned Peter’s hesitance. Wade spent a long moment examining the color and texture of human jerky, before chomping down and chewing carefully. With his snack in hand, he began making a slow circuit of the room. 

“I did not think you would be this accepting.”

“I’ll admit, this is a lot,” Wade said with a full mouth. “I taste pretty good, by the way. Needs a little more salt. But I’d say that this whole situation is not too high on the list of weird shit.” He paused in front of a canvas, slathered in acrylic paints in an abstract rendering of a flower. “What’s this one’s deal? It looks like a normal painting to me.”

“Remember when I skinned your back?” He was pleased that Wade was asking questions. It let him relive the process of acquiring the materials, then treating them, and using them to create his art. It was incredibly satisfying to look at Wade and see a creation hidden in him, then reveling in the pleasure he felt from obtaining his bloody harvests.

“No, shit,” Wade sounded impressed. “I knew there was something about it.” He moved along, already halfway through his cannibalistic jerky. 

Many other pieces required no explanation for what they were. Still, he made comments as he carefully examined Peter’s collection. They were neutral or positive remarks, the occasional question. 

On the comb made of bone shards and gold foil set in resin, he commented, “You should grow out your hair to comb it. You’d look like a mermaid. Or a siren? The mean ones that eat sailors.”

Regarding the pencil drawing of Wade suspended and showing off his six limbs, he said, “You were a dick during that science fair shit. I’m going to get you back for that one, someday.” He was not upset. His tone was playful and teasing with hints that he had the intention of following through.

Peter was charmed by the threat. While he wasn’t used to being on the receiving side of pain, he was intrigued by the thought of Wade inflicting it. He specifically avoided saying anything from dissuading Wade from following through on his revenge plot.

Wade spent a long time examining the tiara of teeth. “I didn’t think you knocked out that many. There’s gotta be a few dozen in there?”

“There are thirty-two,” Peter helpfully informed him. The teeth were staggered across the piece and the top layer was inlet with rubies. He had actually procured over fourty teeth, but they were difficult to work with. The unusable material was ground into a powder and mixed with his paints. 

“Between that and the comb, your siren cosplay is underway.”

After some time, Wade looped back to the where Peter lingered by the door. It was clear that he was satisfied with his investigation.

Peter transformed from nervous to beaming with pride. Wade was perfect. Absolutely perfect. He should have known Wade would take this, like everything else, in stride. And Wade did not look at Peter’s creations with disgust, just curiosity. This acceptance was like nothing he had ever known. At this point, he had no reason to keep secrets. Wade had seen everything, and he had nothing left to hide. He didn’t know how much he craved that openness until he had it. 

Peter was so happy, Wade could ask for anything and Peter would gladly give it to him. It didn’t matter if it was impossible. Peter was beneath Wade’s thumb. No human had ever had this much power over him, and he hoped that Wade would be kind with him.

Peter smiled. Not cruelly, not smuggly, not calculatingly. Just a simple smile to express a simple joy. “Thank you, Wade.”

Wade looked over his shoulder and joked, “For what? My giblets?” 

Peter couldn't summarize the entirety of what Wade meant to him. He didn’t think he was ready to even try to put the feelings that rattled through his ancient heart to words. Peter pressed himself to Wade’s back and confessed, “For being here.”


	6. Chapter 6

Peter, Wade learned, didn’t have much of a head for dates. Time passed mostly linearly, but faster than it did for mortals. Wade was still a newbie to the whole immortal thing, so the passage of time was much more relevant to him. 

Thus, Peter was taken aback when Wade informed the breakfast table on an unspectacular Tuesday in September, “Peter will be taking tomorrow off work, and we’ll be going into the city.” He had been holding Peter’s hand under the table, and squeezed it tighter as he spoke. They were touching most of the time, whenever they were in the same room. Wade had gone so long without intimacy, and now he had an unlimited supply that he took full advantage of. He didn’t know if Peter liked it, though he certainly hoped so. 

Peter took a second to process the announcement. Not a request, a declaration, and not one he had heard before. Wade knew Peter was a very busy man, and Wade didn’t interfere with his work. Aside from the conference call blowjobs. As their original arrangement was transactional in nature, it seemed natural that Wade waited to be called on, and Peter would impose on his time. Their relationship had changed, though. It was not purely transactional, though Wade was still being paid. It was implied that Wade could impose on Peter too. They hadn’t had conversations saying as such, but Peter merely raised his eyebrow. 

He quickly ran through the next day’s agenda and figured his secretary could reschedule everything. He addressed the staff, “Feel free to work out lunch and dinner amongst yourselves for tomorrow. Josh, please order an extra case of whatever you guys want to drink. Something special.”

The staff looked appropriately excited about the offer. There was a minor disagreement about what they would get, so Peter agreed that he would buy them two cases, but warned them not to have too much fun. 

Later on, once they were alone, Wade asked Peter to reserve a car and driver for all of the next day. Peter was intrigued, but did as Wade asked without question. 

1 year

Wade relished the opportunity to be secretive and mysterious. He was an open and honest person, about things that he probably shouldn’t be open and honest about. Today was the day to flip the script, of course he didn’t tell Peter where they were going, nor why he had made plans specifically for this day. 

When they jumped into the car, and the driver asked for the destination, Wade slipped the older gentleman a crumbled receipt with an address written on the back. The man gave some pause at this, and unfurled the paper with a strained look on his face. 

If they were lucky, it would have taken an hour to arrive at their destination. They weren’t, and rush hour traffic put them in closer to two hours. Wade wasn’t usually one to be meticulous about being on time, but he couldn’t be a moment late for the day’s activities. Even with traffic, they got to the park forty minutes early.

Much to Wade’s disappointment Peter didn’t indicate an ounce of curiosity. He barely looked out the window and didn’t inquire once on their plans. It was Wade’s turn to run the show and Peter didn’t give Wade the satisfaction of asking what the plan was. While somewhat discouraging, Wade should have expected it, considering that Peter was an old fart with an abundance of time.

There was a family event in Central Part. It was the season where people were out, trying to enjoy the last bit of summer before it dipped into fall. There was a bouncy house, a bouncy slide, a handful of face painting stations, a few sloppily put together carnival games, and a small entertainment pavilion. They were too far away to see the performance, but it sounded like it was going well.

Since they had the time to kill, Wade took Peter to one of the corner hot dog stands and loaded up a few dogs for them both. Peter ate it with his usual lack of enthusiasm, but Wade was happy enough to have someone to eat with him. They sat on a bench while they ate and talked. Peter spoke in broad strokes about one of the newest charities he was setting up, and Wade discussed how he wanted to buy a project car to fix up. It was amiable conversation that didn’t mean much, but it had the cozy intimacy of people who knew each other well. 

Wade was in a sweatshirt and jeans, which was a touch too warm for the weather, but not distractingly so. Peter was the furthest dressed down Wade had ever seen him. Wade had asked for casual, but he hadn't known how casual Peter was capable of. Turns out, he wore the clothes of an everyday joe without much fuss. It was high quality, but nondescript t-shirt and well fitting jeans. The baggy fit of the t-shirt made Peter look small and unintimidating. Wade hadn’t realized how much the suit had strengthened his presence. It was interesting how almost mundane Peter could become when he wanted to. It was another mask he affixed easily. Without his suits and commanding presence, he just looked like a normal twenty-something. That ass, though, was very distracting. 

They looked painfully boring, aside from Wade’s distinguishing physical features. They might look like bros being bros, aside from the hand Wade rested on Peter’s upper thigh. No one would guess that the inconspicuous Peter had hung Wade from meat hooks and flogged him with razor blades, just the day before.

They were chatting when they heard a squeal. It was mostly drowned out by the excited shouts of the other children running around, but it caught Wade’s attention. He knew his little girl’s voice anywhere. 

The pair saw the little girl with her braid bouncing as she ran towards then, an exasperated Emily Preston trailing behind. Wade turned and opened his arms wide to welcome his daughter into his arms. Wade glanced out the side of his eye, trying to see if Peter was surprised by this development. Again, Peter had a bland expression of pleasantness. Wade almost rolled his eyes, seeing now that trying to blindside Peter would be fruitless. 

“Ellie-belly!”

“Daddy! Missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” Wade said because he couldn’t think of anything else. He battled the guilt of not seeing her more, and knowing he probably shouldn’t see her at all. She’d be sad to no longer see her dad, but she’d be able to build more healthy family bonds. Wade wasn’t stable enough to take Ellie on full time, and he’d never be able to be the father she needed. She had a family with the Prestons, and he hoped he wasn’t doing more damage by being a part time dad.

When Emily caught up, Peter and Emily shared a brief introduction and handshake while Wade made sure he went through the ritual: the twelve step secret handshake, and rigamarole where Wade called Ellie beautiful in increasingly outrageous ways. 

Emily caught up with them, and reminded Wade, “I’ll be back in three and a half hours. She has her saxophone lessons today.”

Wade forgot about that but didn’t let it show on his face. “She will be ready when you come back. Scouts honor.” Wade gave her a little salute.

Emily looked a bit indulgent and rolled her eyes. “You keep this man in line, Mr. Parker. He’s never been a scout a day in his life.”

Peter chuckled appropriately, and Wade looked absolutely aghast at the accusation. 

“This is Mr. Peter, right? He’s just as cute as you said he was.”

Wade panicked for a moment, forgetting that he hadn’t told Peter that Ellie thought Peter was his boyfriend. It had been an offhand comment, at first, when Ellie asked him where he lived. Kids are nosy and intuitive, and she wanted to know about who he was living with in a weird house in upstate New York. She didn’t seem satisfied when Wade told her about Peter and said they were friends. She wouldn’t let it go, saying she knew that two daddy’s can live together and love each other very much, just like Alyssa’s dads. It was Wade’s fault, though. He’d brought Peter up more than was respectable for mere friends.

Peter had tact, though. He squatted down to speak to her at her level and put out his hand to shake.“You must be Miss Ellie, you are much bigger than your daddy led me to believe.”

“What did daddy say?”

“He said you were itty-bitty. Just about this tall,” he indicated with his hand hovering six inches over the ground. “But I see now that you are big and strong.” 

She preened at the compliment. “I always tell him I’m a big girl.”

“He’s just a worry wart. Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure he’s not too much of a stick in the mud so we can have loads of fun today.” Peter said, conspiratorially. “How’s that sound?”

Wade objected, “Hey! I’ve never been a stick in the mud ever in my entire life. I’m full of bad ideas.”

It was too late, though. Ellie latched onto Peter in a way only little kids do. They started off into the fair, with Wade following behind. The initial meeting had gone well and Wade silently sighed in relief. Wade mentioned Ellie on a regular basis and Peter would nod and ask questions at appropriate times, but Wade didn’t know how Peter would react to meeting her. Luckily, though, Peter’s eyes were soft and he seemed fond. He was surprised Peter could speak to a child in such an effortlessly friendly way. Like he had spent a lot of time with children. That was something to ask about. 

Wade marveled at how the afternoon went perfectly. It was a darling little event, meant for parents and children to celebrate before school started back up. Peter and Wade looked the part of supportive parents. 

Peter turned out to be amazing at the ring toss. The three played a few rounds, and Peter won Wade a unicorn with a majestic rainbow mane and won Ellie a puppy with a misshapen smile. Wade, on the other hand, kicked ass at darts and the shooting hoops. They ended up needing bags to contain their winnings.

They stood off to the side while Ellie went for her fifth run through the inflatable obstacle course and slide. Wade had bought a long strip of tickets for the ride and handed it to the teenager in charge. There were far more than she could possibly use, but he wanted his little girl to enjoy the ride for as long as she wanted. She’d run through the course and breathlessly return to where Peter and Wade were watching her. Ever the bad influence, Wade would say something like, “That the best you can do? I think you can do it faster.” Then Ellie would try again. 

Peter joked about how she’d have no breath left for her saxophone lessons if he kept that up.

It didn’t take her long to run out of steam, though her endurance was impressive. She was happy, and vibrant, if incredibly sweaty. Wade didn’t hesitate to put her on his shoulders, even though she was starting to get a bit big for it. 

He bought her whatever she wanted to eat, and Peter and Wade ate whatever she couldn’t. Her eyes were greedy, but her stomach capacity was limited. Wade and Peter ended up eating most of a caramel apple, deep-fried twinkie, a plate of fries, and a funnel cake. 

Emily would not be pleased with him for spoiling Ellie, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t get much time with her, and he wanted to give her the best he could. She’d gone through so much, and she was so strong. It was amazing that she had grown into a relatively normal kid. It wasn’t any thanks to Wade, obviously. It was Emily, buckets of therapy, and Ellie’s will to overcome. She still struggled, but Wade wasn’t around enough to see that. He knew that she had night terrors, dissociative episodes, and even violent outbursts. You’d never guess that, looking at her now. 

Wade could safely travel with Ellie now that his name had been out of the merc community for a year. He had an ear out for chatter and asked Peter to do so as well. Word on the street was that Deadpool was gone with no intent to return. Based on current intel, those who might have a bone to pick with Wade were unwilling to be the reason he came out of retirement. They didn’t want him to come John Wick their asses. That meant he could take Ellie anywhere she wanted to go. He could give her the VIP treatment at Disney World, take her to swim with dolphins, or any number of fun, exciting experiences. He wondered if Peter might consider coming on a vacation with the pair. He wouldn’t want Peter to go hungry, but it wasn’t just that. Peter also seemed to get along with Ellie, and maybe he’d like to share those experiences with them, too. Wade wanted to stay with Peter, and he wanted Peter to be his family. 

With Peter here, conversing flawlessly with Ellie about things that were important to her, he could imagine Peter wearing the ridiculous Mickey Mouse ears, smiling and shining under the Florida sunshine. Maybe Peter wouldn’t understand what all the fuss was about, but he’d certainly enjoy the people watching. Or, as Ellie grew older, they could take her on international trips to some of the most beautiful and historical cities Wade had been to. He wanted the three of them to giggle at David’s penis in Florence, to pay for overpriced rides on the gondolas in Venice, to eat schnitzel in an authentic beer garden under the trees in Germany. Ellie was a little too young to enjoy those things yet, but he wanted her to have those experiences someday. 

Wade found himself shaking his head out of his daydreams. He’d never had the chance to think seriously about the future. Things were always so uncertain that he barely knew how to think about tomorrow. He could count that Peter would be there, and Peter would take care of him, and that Peter couldn’t be without him. Peter gave him the structure for which he could now build his life, and there were too many possibilities. 

By the time Wade had to give Ellie back to Emily, Ellie was sugared up and exhausted but eager to tell Emily about all the fun she had with daddy and Mr. Peter. She was so busy telling Emily about her day that she almost forgot to give Wade his goodbye hug. She began walking back to Emily when she turned around again and ran to give Wade, then Peter a hug. “You are nice. You should come with daddy again.” With that, she was off. She turned around a final time to shout, “Bye bye, love you daddy!”

As Peter and Wade watched her leave, Peter reached out to grab Wade’s hand. Wade’s face must have given away how hard it was to watch her leave. It was nice not to have to go through that part alone.

Once they were alone once again, Wade took Peter to the Met for an exhibit on Chinese painting and calligraphy. Peter had mentioned that, while he was well travelled, before globalization he wasn’t able to travel as extensively as he wanted to. His European features were notable in non-European regions, and he couldn’t feed in an area where all the residents were eying him skeptically for being an obvious outsider. He needed to stand out in some ways and fade into the crowd in others.

There wasn’t much talking to be had. Peter drank in every smidgen of information given on the plaques next to the exhibit. Wade read some of them, next to pieces that interested him, but he was a less aggressive museum goer. While he was slightly bored, because Wade wasn’t the biggest art aficionado, he was happy that Peter was so clearly adoring it. He’d suffer through more boring museum trips to see that little line on Peter’s forehead that meant he was concentrating.

Wade muttered to Peter, “I didn’t know you’d have this much of a hard on for Chinese art.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s not a hard on.”

“Phew, I’m glad I don’t need to bring ink and brushes into the bedroom.”

Peter finally stopped reading the plaque corresponding to a large koi painting and pinched Wade’s side. “I have pieces like this in storage. I’m glad to know the historical context behind some of the art I’ve acquired over the years.”

“Can’t you just Bing this stuff?”

“I could,” Peter responded pensively, as though he was sorting out the logistics for such an endeavour. “But my collection is large, and it would be hard to pick a place to start. I have told you that I have other buildings where I keep the majority of my collection, right?”

That was the first Wade had heard about Peter owning property, other than the estate. He didn’t doubt it, as Peter was obnoxiously wealthy, but it seemed like a significant detail to have been overlooked. “No?”

“Oh. I guess I didn’t. I keep pieces at the estate that are sturdy and not at high risk to degrade. All of that is maybe one percent, actually probably less than that. Half a percent?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s a very small part of my collection.”

The scale of what Peter owned was blowing Wade’s mind. “Geez. Someone is a magpie. Where do you get that much stuff?”

“I buy or steal little bits from wherever I go, or accept gifts. Jewelry, art, pottery, letters, whatever. I saw humanity changing everyday, and I wanted to record it so that I could understand. The world has changed around me, and here I am.” Peter seemed lonely. It was a deep loneliness that Wade could never hope to reach. Peter was old, was never a part of humanity, and would never be able to understand it. Wade could understand Peter’s feelings in broad strokes, but he’d never know what it was like to be a species of one. “Humans move too fast for me. I try to change with the times, but it doesn’t feel like I’m ever fast enough. Anyway, when it became too much to carry, I made caches. Some time ago, I consolidated those caches, at least the ones that hadn’t been pilfered.” He mumbled to himself more than Wade and tapped a finger over his lips, “I probably should send back some of the religious artifacts. Modern sensibilities dictate that those are best not to be hoarded by those outside the faith.” It sounded like he hadn’t considered that before.

Wade agreed, “Not a great look.”

“I suppose not. Not even two hundred years ago the british were removing the dead from their tombs and tearing apart their wrappings at parties. Wouldn’t be able to get away with that anymore.”

Wade could not contain his confusion at this odd practice. “What? Why?”

“Mummy parties. It was all the rage in England in the early 1800’s. It was like opening a gift, but it was a corpse from Egypt.”

Wade gave Victorian England a solid side eye for that practice. 

****  
The final stop of the day was to Saint Margeret’s. The driver announced with a sneer when they arrived and made no motion to get out of the car to open the doors for Wade and Peter. Neither minded and, after they exited, the car sped off. 

Wade whistled as the driver blew through the stop sign. “Doesn’t look like he’s coming back, does it?”

Peter was on his phone immediately, typing out something. “I’ll order another driver. He was looking a little green around the gills when we came out this way. How long are we going to be here?”

“About two hours.”

Peter hummed, typed for another minute or two, and slid his phone back in his pocket. “That should be sorted. Lead the way.”

The air stank just as much as Wade remembered, and it felt so wrong to bring the polished and distinguished Peter here. Peter was dressed down, but he still had an aura of importance that stood out against the pissed stained interior. 

There was a hush as recognition struck the patrons that out-of-suit Deadpool had walked through the door with some twink on his arm. 

Weasel was quick to announce, “I owe him a favor. He’s not back, he’s on a date. Get back to your drinking.”

Wade dared them to say something with how he slung his arm around Peter’s shoulder. Peter might think it’s hot to see someone else’s blood on Wade’s fists, and Wade would not take any disrespect towards his partner. 

The patrons were smart, though, and decided to keep their thoughts to themselves.

Once it was clear that everyone was keeping their traps shut, Weasel finally addressed Wade, “Ah, this is the idiot who you tricked into hanging out with you. Way out of your league.” He stage whispered to Peter, “You could do so much better.”

Wade did not appreciate Weasel’s comment. He didn’t need to be reminded what he looked like, especially after the amazing day he had had so far. It made Wade glad he’d given next to zero information about Peter or the nature of their relationship. 

He took some solace in the way Peter looked unimpressed and annoyed. Peter, as if he had something disgusting in his mouth, replied, “I’ll take that into consideration.”

The coldness must have caught Weasel off guard, and they stared at each other in an awkward silence. Eventually, he remembered why the pair had come. “Oh yeah, it’s all set up.” He tossed over the keys he dug out of his pocket. “I’d take ya’ up there, but I don’t have anyone to man the bar.”

Wade checked the keyring to make sure the right key was on there. “We can see ourselves up.” 

They made it through the stairwell and onto the roof. It was mostly concrete, aside from the puke green blanket set out. The blanket had a milk crate sitting on it with an unlit pink birthday candle, an old Zippo lighter, and a plate of some sort of pasta. 

Wade sighed. Everything had gone so well, of course something had had to fall through. “This is not what I meant when I said I wanted a candlelight dinner.”

Peter approached the blanket and ran a hand over it. “The blanket feels soft and sort of clean, at least.”

“Ah yes, the height of luxury.” Wade pinched the bridge between his eyes. This was incredibly embarrassing. He wasn’t expecting much, but he at least thought Weasel would haul up a shitty little table and chairs, top it with a dingy table cloth, and a tea light. All Wade wanted was a nice dinner out, privately, where Peter wouldn’t need to worry about pretending to eat human food. He wanted it to be just them without any pretenses. “Sorry about this, Pete.” Wade promised himself that he was going to have a discussion with Weasel about not half-assing his favors, and Weasel still owed Wade at least half a favor. 

Ever the agreeable partner, Peter sat down and invited Wade to do the same.

Once they settled in together, Wade’s disappointment about their arrangement faded away. They shared a chuckle as they lit the birthday candle, and enjoyed its light for the minute it lasted. Wade ate the surprisingly delicious ravioli in vodka sauce. It was on an old, scraped up plate, and that combined with the quality made Wade think that Weasel had somehow conned an italian grandmother into making it. 

“Things were a lot different a year ago, man.” Wade wished he had a glass of something to drink to, but Weasel hadn’t even bothered to give him water. 

Peter had been looking at the cloudy skyline and turned to face Wade with a fond grin, “Ah, it has been a year, hasn’t it.”

“Yup,” Wade said with a pop. “One year ago today that you kidnapped me.”

“It wasn’t kidnapping; it was a negotiation,” Peter said, matter-of-factly. 

Peter sounded so logical that Wade could almost believe it. All the best negotiations happen after you stage a fake mission, gas the target, tie them up, and haul them into your evil lair. “Right, you wanted to hire me to be your boy toy, and I didn’t want to waste my time on some rich asshole’s whims.”

“And we compromised by doing what I wanted.”

“Well, I have to say I didn’t get a half bad deal out of it.” Wade went through the whole theatrics of faking a stretch and extending an arm over Peter’s shoulder. 

“Oh?” Peter rested his head on Wade’s shoulder while Wade kept shoveling in the ravioli. 

“Yeah, I got a sick room in this mansion-bunker love child, I get laid on the regular by this cutie patootie, get paid for it, and he throws me into subspace faster than a pro baseball player.”

“That’s one way to look at it. On my side, I get this handsome gent who is available at my beck and call, who lets me inflict absolutely heinous acts upon his person, and he makes sure not to die for too long.”

Wade turned his head to the side, and Peter raised his so that their lips are barely touching and breathed, “Guess we both get what we want.”

They kissed, and it felt right. Wade held Peter’s cheek in his hand, and he knew he wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else. It didn’t matter that they sat under a starless night, that there was so much light pollution the sky turned orange, nor that the blanket was too thin to protect Wade’s ass from the soreness of sitting on a hard roof. It was imperfect enough that he could believe it was real, and he felt like he had found some peace. 

When they eventually managed to part, Wade went back to his ravioli. “This is an anniversary of sorts, correct?” Peter said, like he was testing the waters with that label.

“Sure, we can call it that.”

“Ah, an anniversary,” Peter repeated. “I haven’t had one of those before.”

“You haven’t?”

“Not a fun one, like this. I have enough death anniversaries to fill up a phone book.”

“You kept track of all your meals?” That sounded odd. Peter did not express remorse for his past, or so it had seemed.

Wade knew he was missing information, based on how sad Peter’s voice sounded and how Peter’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. “No. Huh.” Peter scratched his chin. “I guess I didn’t tell you why I started fasting. I thought it would have come up by now.”

“I thought you just grew a conscience one day.”

“I did, in a way. I don’t mind talking about it, but it’ll kill the mood.”

Wade was more than willing to murder the mood with his bare hands if it meant he learned Peters Tragic Backstory™. It had to have been big to turn a voracious sex demon to celebacy. “No, no, it’s fine. I wanna know.” He didn’t want to seem too eager.

“It wasn’t anything too drastic, in the grand scheme of things.” He leaned back to stare upwards as he recalled the story. “I was passing through a town and wanted to eat before I left. There was this bar wench that was very eager to take me behind the tavern. After I was done, I went about hiding her body, and I heard this voice. This tiny voice is calling for her mother and I think, oh no, I’m going to get caught and have to leave some of my possessions at the inn. With one hand I’m shoving her mother’s body into the brush, while I’m trying not to look threatening. This little girl is absolutely tiny, a lot of the children were malnourished back then, and she says that her father had died and she needs to tell her mom and asks if I’ve seen her. I realize this kid’s alone now. Both parents dead in the same day.”

Wade thought maybe this wasn’t the best conversation to have after Peter just met his daughter, but he’d asked. 

“I never knew why that bothered me. I’d made kids orphans before and I didn’t care, but this one. This one got me. She had been crying, but she looked defeated and resigned. That look doesn’t belong on any child’s face. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t deal with kids. My nature dictates that I only interact with adult humans.”

There was a break, and Wade was desperate to know what happened next. “So, what then?”

“I said her mom was attacked by a bad man and asked if she wanted to come travel with me. ‘Stranger danger’ was thankfully not a notion back then. I think she was in shock and just followed me. Turns out her mom wasn’t a very good mom, and her dad was worse. Parenting was not what it is today. I raised her best I could. I made a lot of mistakes, but she turned out alright. She got married, had a few kids.”

Peter had been amazing with Ellie. It made sense now that he knew Peter had been something of a dad before. “Did she ever know that you killed her mom?”

“I told her when she was old enough. She figured out that I was unusual. I hadn’t aged her entire life. When I told her, she wasn’t happy with me, but she didn’t have fond memories of her mom.”

“What did that change?”

“Well, I tried not to make orphans after that, but I kept finding them. I’d run into these kids, broken and alone, and take them in. I’d stay with them until they could set off on their own, and suddenly they’d be adults that could be my prey. I couldn’t enjoy the feedings after that. Any of those meals could have been one of the children I had raised. I made something of a promise with myself. When I had a ward, I’d eat just enough to get by so I could be a safe guardian. If I didn’t have someone to raise, I’d fast until I couldn’t anymore. And I definitely couldn’t indulge my sadistic tendencies.”

“Is that how you were when I found you? You were between kids?”

“My last ward reached adulthood twenty-three years ago.” It was a strange thought that Peter had a son running around in his forties. Wade knew Peter was old, but Peter still looked like a mid-twenties twink. “I decided to see if I could find a more reliable food source after he grew up. I knew of some immortals, and I searched for them, but I didn’t find any who’d be willing to entertain me.”

“Their loss.” Wade kissed Peter on the cheek. How different their lives would have been if Peter had found someone else to feed him. The immortals community was small, and most of them were assholes. If they had agreed to feed Peter, it would have been a purely business transaction. Nothing like what Peter and Wade had built.

“Only you’d think that, sweet one.” Peter kissed him gently. “The ones that refused to be my meal vowed to fight me if I rampaged.” It was not pleasant to think about. Every immortal who refused his proposition was a step closer to Peter losing all sense of self and falling to the starvation. “They knew I was dangerous, but didn’t offer aid.”Once it was clear that they weren’t going to help, Peter made them forget and sent them on their way. 

“You are harmless now.”

“Yeah, harmless to anyone but you.”

“You know I’m happy to be your victim.” Wade reached for Peter’s hand and massaged his knuckles. “Happy one year together, Peter.”

****

When they left, Wade made sure to assure Weasel that this wasn’t good enough to count for a full favor. It didn’t matter than Peter enjoyed it, Weasel had half assed it. Quarter assed it, even. Weasel looked sheepish, as if he had hoped that Wade hadn’t noticed his low effort. Wade had. 

They entered the new car. It was a similar model, but the driver was most definitely different. This one seemed unbothered by the neighborhood. He was a true professional and didn’t even flinch when Wade talked about some of the misadventures he and Weasel had gotten into. Wade decided this driver was a good one, and Peter should request him in the future. Give him a five star review and a nice tip. 

When they returned to the estate, it was deep into the evening. They’d had a full, eventful day. Wade was tired, but he was excited for the last leg of their anniversary.

He had debated whether they should do this in the playroom or in Peter’s bedroom, but ultimately Wade decided that it should be in his own bedroom. It was a space he rarely let Peter enter, and it felt significant that he let Peter in for this special occasion. 

He halted Peter at the door, and told him, “Wait one second, okay Petey?”

He slipped in and tore his clothes off, throwing them somewhere off into a corner. He tossed on a lacey red robe that did very little to cover, well, anything. That was all he planned to do, but he panicked now that he was here. The bed wasn’t made, there was some cheeto dust on it, and Wade’s Dark Cherry Seduction Blast lipstick would totally pull the look together. There was too much to do, and Peter was waiting on him right outside the door, so he did his best. He tore the cheeto-marked duvet off and shoved it under the bed. They wouldn’t need that anyway. Then he tidied up the sheets and fluffed the pillow. It looked presentable. Then he pulled out his makeup bag that was hiding underneath his lifesize bengal tiger. He liberally applied the Dark Cherry Witch’s Heated Gaze lipstick and felt ten times sexier. Now he felt ready to have passionate anniversary sex with his not-an-incubus partner.

He arranged himself artfully on the bed, pulling the robe in the right way to frame his legs and chest. He wished he had a wig that he could twirl in his fingers, but there was no time to brush one out. He’d already had Peter waiting a few minutes longer than he wanted. Still, he was as ready as he was going to be. He felt sexy and alluring, and he hoped Peter would enjoy it. “Come in,” he called in a sing-song way.

Much to Wade’s relief, Peter came in with a swagger in his step and a smirk at Wade’s appearance. “Is this all for me?”

“The whole enchilada, Peter Peter ass eater.” 

Peter lowered himself onto the bed and crawled to Wade. “Do you feel proud about that one?”

Wade was feeling a little smug about the clever nickname. “It’s true. You are Peter, and you do indeed eat ass.”

“Is that a subtle request? Do you want me to eat you out until your legs shake?”

“Nothing subtle about me, baby.” Wade rolled his hips up to Peter. He’d been rock hard since he put on the robe. The soft lace teased his skin and drove him wild. He was completely ready to get the show on the road, and Peter was catching up. The demon would never refuse a meal. “But that’s not what I had in mind.”

“What do you have in mind? This is your show.”

Wade felt a little zing of excitement that Peter verbally conceded control for this encounter. While Wade didn’t crave control and he wasn’t about to torture Peter like how Peter tortured him, it felt so new to be in the driver seat. It was a first time, of sorts. He was flipping the script and Peter was letting him. “I want to flip you over and see how deep I can get my tongue inside that sweet ass.”

“Living up to your middle name, are you?”

“Huh? Winston?”

“You, on at least one occasion, declared your middle name to be ‘Crack Snacker.’” Peter moved off Wade to lay on his stomach and shake his ass alluringly.

Peter had to have something of an eidetic memory to remember everything he did. It was lucky for Wade because he had no memory of ever saying such an iconic line, and his life was worse off for not remembering. Something about the cancer and torture wasn’t good for the ol’ storage upstairs. It was a boon that he had a walking memory bank to record his best hits. “I will be Wade Crack Snacker Wilson for you any day of the week, baby.”

Wade followed Peter’s lead and tugged Peter’s pants off. Peter had a lovely habit of wearing pretty panties. He knew how much Wade liked them, and Wade hadn’t seen the same pair twice. They were ruined by the end of the day, anyway. Today’s underwear was, coincidentally, open backed white panties with red lace. Wade was thankful that he didn’t have to rip a hole in these, and he loved how they highlighted Peter’s pert ass. 

He dove in with no hesitation. It was wet and filthy. His saliva dripped down, soaking into the panties. Wade’s cheeks and lips were a sticky mess. 

Wade didn’t actually know if this did much for Peter. He wasn’t sure how much Peter enjoyed any sort of sexual act. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if Peter’s pleasure was performative or genuine. He did know that Peter did things outside the scope of strictly getting Wade off. The pretty clothes were something that turned Wade on but likely didn’t make Wade orgasm any sooner. Peter had spent hours one day cockwarming Wade. That day, Wade only came once. That was a lot of work for one measly meal. It made Wade think that Peter enjoyed sex, but there was no polite way to ask if that was the case.

It felt real enough for Wade. The mewls of pleasure spilling out of Peter’s mouth made Wade rub against the bed to get a little friction.

It took a while for Wade’s jaw to get sore, but it did happen and he’d decided he’d had a full meal. He had no idea how long he lost himself in Peter’s luscious cheeks, but he felt emotionally and spiritually fulfilled by the endeavor.

He pushed Peter onto his side so he would see Wade plop onto the bed. Wade made his intentions clear by laying on his back, spreading his legs, and getting comfortable. He patted his thighs and told Peter to, “Hop on.”

Peter was flushed so pretty but was quick to do as Wade asked. When he rose, there was a puddle on the sheets and a little spot where he dribbled precum. He didn’t have to focus on positioning himself. It was some sort of demon power where he deftly knew where Wade’s dick was and could sink down on it without touching or feeling it. It was some of that sex witchcraft. 

Sex witchcraft was useful because Wade could sit back and look cute in his robe while Peter used those legs of steel to ride into the sunset. 

“Got you nice and slick and loose,” Wade moaned as their hips were fully flush against each other. It was unnecessary because Peter was always slicked, with or without foreplay. 

In the beginning, Peter would ride him with a single minded focus to get Wade to cum. He never dragged it out. Wade didn’t last long, not with the perfect heat, perfect tightness, perfect speed, perfect friction. Peter was built to feed efficiently, which did not lead to long, drawn out encounters. Maybe Peter didn’t want Wade to get bored, maybe he enjoyed having a sexual relationship longer than one time, but it changed. Wade couldn’t pinpoint when it was over the past year that Peter had slowed down to smell the roses. Now Peter would pause for a second to kiss Wade, rub his cheek, suck on his neck. 

Wade could tell the end was not long off. “Pete, hey, you trust me right?”

Peter stopped, thrown off by the question. A few seconds of silence that felt like forever passed before he replied, “Yes. I trust you.”

Wade felt a tad guilty for thrusting such a question all of a sudden, but Peter had surprised him with far worse things. He grabbed Peter’s hips to get him moving again. He put his hand on Peter’s throat and applied a constant pressure.

Peter had a sly smile, probably trying to figure out Wade’s angle. 

Wade pushed Peter onto his back and savagely drove into him. When he felt his orgasm coming, he applied his other hand to Peter’s head. With practiced ease, he snapped Peter’s neck and killed his lover.

****

Peter opened his eyes to a kaleidoscope sky on a pile of shriveled rose petals. It had been many years since he’d been here, but it wasn’t the kind of place one could forget or confuse with anywhere else.

He sat up to greet the only occupant of this world. “Good evening, Lady Death. I’ll admit, I was not expecting to see you today.” 

Not much had changed since he saw her last. Her robe was a dark blue instead of the black he’d seen her in before. She wore a silver chain with a beautiful azure stone placed in a simple setting. It was a much more modern piece than what he’d seen before. She was lounging on a throne of bones, looking very much like the goddess she was. Peter thought that might be a great idea for a future piece in his gallery. “Indeed.” She sounded amused. “I was expecting you.”

“Wade told you I’d be down, I’m sure.”

“That he did. He was here after the hot pokers and the capsaicin. He wanted to make sure you’d return if he killed you.”

“I’ve told him enough times that I can’t be killed.”

“He worries.” She had a goblet held delicately between her fingers. She took a careful sip, and Peter saw how it passed uninterrupted through the bones of her throat. “He’s never seen you die.” Despite having no skin or muscle, her bones held a stern demeanor. 

"He hasn’t needed to.”

“To be fair, you’ve killed him many more times than he’s needed to.” 

She sounded judgmental, and Peter felt the need to justify himself. “He agreed to all that.”

“Sure. I know how you are, Peter. I know how convincing you are.” She swirled the contents of her glass. Her vacant eye sockets held unfathomable knowledge and complicated emotions. Peter, despite his age and experience, was not equipped to understand. 

“I tried to convince him not to do it. I told him I’d only mutilate him while he’s dead, but he insisted on witnessing my sadism.”

“Ah yes. And I’m sure you didn’t use any of your skills in persuasion.” She added a little flourish of her hand, as she attempted to put a name to Peter’s abilities. Peter realized he’d fallen into something of a shovel talk with Death herself. It wasn’t the strangest thing to happen to him, but it was certainly notable. He might add it to his calendar. 

“I didn’t use any of my seductions on him, I swear. I’ve never forced him to do anything. He always has an out, and I do nothing to influence his judgement. He can leave if he wants.”

“I don’t know why he stays and takes it.”

“Neither do I. I kept pushing the limits, and I never found them. He lets me do what pleases me without complaint.” That was a fib. Wade did whine about certain acts, but not in a serious way. He’d bitch about Peter getting blood on clothing that he liked or getting stabbed in the kidney, again. Wade said it in jest, a distinction that Death likely wouldn’t be sensitive to at the moment. Peter did not want to make an enemy of Death, no matter how inconsequential she was to Peter’s existence. Wade liked her, and he spent a decent amount of time with her. In a way, Peter wanted to make nice with Wade’s friend. The only one he’d met so far was Death and it wasn’t going well. 

She tapped her finger against her cheekbone, slow and measured. It was the only sound in the quiet realm. “People do strange things for you, whether or not you are trying to exert control over them.”

Peter did not want to think about that. It was a topic he carefully avoided in his own mind. “I don’t think he is. He’s not obsessed with me, not like those people were.”

“I’d say letting you do all that is a kind of obsession.”

It was a fair point. Peter wasn’t going to address it, though. “I’m sorry, Death. I don’t know what you want me to say. If I am influencing him, it’s not a conscious thought.”

She rose from her throne and stalked towards Peter. Her face was a hair’s breadth from Peters when she said. “I can’t say I like what you are doing to him, but he seems happy. I need you to promise me that you will take care of him and give him the love he deserves. You need to promise that you will give him absolutely anything he wants, even if it’s to leave.”

Peter didn’t hesitate. “I promise. Yes, to all of it. I promise.”

“Good. Now, if you don’t keep your promise, the next time you die, I’ll stuff your soul in a pocket dimension so dark and desolate that you’ll forget the color of the sky. You won’t know the sound of your own voice. Time will become an even more abstract concept to you. Do you understand?”

Peter didn’t know if that was something she could do, but he took the threat seriously. He felt inexplicably cold. Fear wasn’t an emotion he often felt, and he almost laughed at the novelty of it. Peter made some sort of sound and hoped it conveyed the appropriate amount of horror. 

Her hard, frigid fingers gripped his cheeks so hard that his teeth hurt. “I think we understand each other. Take care of Wade, take care of yourself, and I hope you two are somehow happy together.”

A thanks might be in order, but Peter felt like Death didn’t really want his participation in this conversation. 

She brought her mouth to his cheek in something like a kiss. Without lips, it was merely a press of pearly white teeth and bone to his skin. 

He blinked, and suddenly he was back to the land of the living.

****  
Wade had approximately two seconds to panic after he had cum in Peter’s limp body. He had wanted to do this, it was the perfect way to conclude their anniversary, but he immediately had regrets. What if Peter didn’t come back? What if the man he’d grown such affection for was gone forever? What if Peter had become mortal at some point and he wasn’t as invincible as he used to be?

But after two agonizing seconds, Peter’s eyes refocused and he looked disoriented. Wade could relate; coming back from dying was confusing. He just kept still while Peter readjusted to being a living being again. 

“Well, that was interesting,” Peter eventually concluded. “Might I ask what that was about?”

“Yeah, why don’t I pull out first.” Having a conversation about feelings was not a fantastic idea while Wade was still inside Peter. He scooted back and coaxed Peter to sit on his lap. It was kinda damp and sticky, but he wanted the closeness after he freaked out about Peter’s death. Both Peter and Death had promised that Peter couldn’t die, but seeing Peter’s listless body had created a dread Wade wasn’t prepared for. Wade had lost so many people, he couldn’t imagine losing someone he cared about by his own hand. It was alright, though. Peter was here, sweet and sexy as always, if a bit confused by the whole ordeal. “So, I wanted to have sex.”

“We have sex a lot.”

“I feed you. Sex is the mechanism, but the purpose is to feed you.”

“You feed me way more than I need. More than once a day is just for fun. You know that right?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to have sex. Just plain sex.” 

“I know I am the last one to say this, but normal sex usually doesn’t end with someone dying.”

Wade took a moment to look at Peter and consider the audacity of this bitch. Peter died one time after he killed Wade countless times, and now suddenly murder in the bedroom was a big deal. Wade decided to use some restraint to keep his grumbling to himself and stay on topic. It was important to him that Peter understand his motivations. “Okay, well, it wasn’t exactly vanilla. I just didn’t want you to feed. I wanted us to enjoy ourselves without any alternative motives. Is that so wrong?”

“No, it’s not. I don’t think I understand, but I appreciate that it was important to you.” Peter leaned in for a slow, sincere kiss. “Though the romance of the situation is somewhat diminished by the way Lady Death threatened me.”

“She what?” Wade was taken aback. That didn’t sound like the lovely lady he knew and adored. She was a delightful ball of darkness and kittens. He couldn’t imagine her being so unpleasant as to threaten his lover.

“I don’t think she understands the nature of our relationship. She made it clear that bad things would happen if I ever made you unhappy.”

Wade blushed and hid his face in Peter’s hair. She didn’t need to do all that for him. He didn’t know how to react to feeling like he was a teenage girl whose father was cleaning his shotgun. He tried to make a mental note to tell Death that she didn’t need to do all that for lil ol’ Wade. “Hopefully killing you wasn’t too painful.”

“No, just surprising. You are very efficient at it.” Peter paused to think. “Hm, I’m not sure how you killed me. It wasn’t oxygen deprivation, and there’s no blood. Did you break my neck?”

Peter’s healing must be pretty impressive. He revived quickly, and he didn’t have any pain to tell him how he died. “Yeah. You die as easy as any human, in case you were curious.”

“Strange. I’m stronger than most humans. I assumed my neck might be more resilient to that kind of thing.” Wade felt Peter rub his neck. “Killing me was a bit cruel.”

“You kill me all the time, you don’t get to call me cruel.”

“It’s not the same. You dangled yourself in front of my nose, and you are a triple loaded taco with a burrito.” Wade drooled thinking about a taco, loaded high with a wall of ground beef and dripping with cheese. Fucking Peter was a workout and he could go for dinner part two. “And then you ate it right in front of me. No, it’s worse than that. You threw it on the floor and swept the mess up so I can’t lick it up.”

Now, Wade had usually been the submissive torture puppet of this little arrangement they had, but he would not mind watching Peter lick a fully loaded Dorito taco off the floor. He could see the sour cream on Peter’s cheeks, the pitiful look in his eye of being a vicious incubus, brought down to such a degrading position. It was pretty fucking hot.

Despite Wade’s distraction, he ultimately did understand the point of Peter’s metaphor: Peter was hungry and was grumpy that Wade edged him with food. And while Wade had a few dominant bones in his body, more when Peter fucked him, he was inclined to give Peter what he wanted. It was their anniversary, afterall. Besides, thinking about tacos and Peter being sexy with tacos was getting him hot and bothered again. What could he say? He was a simple man.

“What a needy demon. You just ate yesterday. You lasted how long before me and you can’t survive a single day now?”

Peter pulled him in for a needy kiss, almost like a wordless plead. “Why would I hold back when I have someone so delicious that is willing and able to provide?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t need to.”

“Great.” Peter threw Wade down with a show of strength that was both unnecessary and desperately hot. “Now, it’s my turn.”

Wade rolled his eyes. Like, 99% of the time it was Peter’s turn. Peter was so difficult after being out of control this one time. His slight exasperation only lasted as long as it took for Peter to sink back down on him. Peter rode him like he was furious, like he demanded retribution by making Wade’s brain melt out of his ears. 

Still, when Wade returned from his brief, pleasant visit with Death, Peter was there. Peter looked absolutely smitten. Charmed, even. Soft in a way he shouldn’t be. Peter leaned over to give Wade a reassuring kiss, then nestled onto Wade’s chest. 

Wade savored how Peter’s weight felt on him. He wanted to keep him there, running his hand through Peter’s hair and feeling the delicate curves of Peter’s back.

Peter scratched at Wade’s ribs, almost painfully, to get Wade’s attention. He whispered, “Happy anniversary.” Even quieter, he added, like a secret, one that Wade wasn’t meant to hear, “To many, many more, my beloved.”


End file.
